


Balance the Scales

by daphnerunning



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Fix-It, It's that cursed amulet, M/M, Prideshipping, Resurrection, Scandalshipping, Seto Kaiba Builds a Holodeck, Sometimes you have to ask yourself, Thiefshipping, post dsod sort of, what's the constant factor in all of your failed relationships?, why do you even have that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 69,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27215035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning
Summary: “Don't distract me, Mokuba. Time is running out.""Until...?""Until the Ancient Egyptian calendar quarter of Flood, obviously! When I can punch a hole in the fabric of space and time and rescue a long-dead Pharaoh from his well-deserved Afterlife and drag him back here to play Duel Monsters with me!” Kaiba snarls, as if such a thing should be obvious. “As if I haven’t told you that before!”“See, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about? Last time, it was so weird, and I don’t think it was good…”“That wasn’t a good dimension,” Kaiba admits, but dismisses it. “Blah, blah, something about Edison and a thousand ways not to make a lightbulb.”
Relationships: Atem/Kaiba Seto, Atem/Priest Seto, Kaiba Seto/Yami Yuugi, Yami Bakura/Marik Ishtar
Comments: 22
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

When Atem opens his eyes, what greets him isn’t sun-warmed stone and sand, but the stark, oddly too-clean setting of a bedroom, lights shut off, with only the sparkling city lights of Domino City casting a glow to see by. 

Huh. 

He’s had a number of long, lingering dreams of his time in the future, but this is different. This…feels real, and as he hesitates by the enormous, floor to ceiling window and gingerly reaches a hand out to touch the glass, the cool, smooth chill of it makes it very clear that _this is real._

Atem swallows, and hastily pulls his hand back, his eyes flicking back around the room. _Where_ is _this?_

Stark, modern lines of a bedroom that is also definitely barely lived in fill his vision, and the bed—occupied, apparently, judging by the lump in the middle—catches his interest most of all. Atem turns, slowly, carefully approaching, the quiet clink and jangle of his jewelry the only sound of his approach as he leans over the bed, planting his hands onto it to peer curiously down at its occupant. 

_Seth?_

No…not _that_ Seth. _Kaiba_ Seto, which is a wholly different…mood. Atem swallows, his heart thudding oddly for a moment, eyes wide as he leans back. Of all the places to be, of all the not-dreams to have…

At least if it were Yugi’s bedroom he had randomly appeared in, he’d have a place to start. But—well, there’s no time like the present, _apparently_ , and so Atem drops onto the edge of the bed with a huff, and leans over the other man’s sleeping form. “Kaiba,” he lowly says, reaching out one finger to prod at his back. “Oi. Kaiba. Wake up.” 

“…Go away, Mokuba.” 

Kaiba always wakes the same way—all at once, with no barrier between sleep and wake, with his heart thudding as if he’d only just escaped some horrible fate, with no recollection of what had happened before. It takes a moment for his vision to clear, and when it does, he freezes, even his breath freezing, his heaving chest halted. His eyes widen, and he finally manages, with no trace of doubt but absolute incredulity, to whisper, “ _Atem_?”

Admittedly, Atem expected a _great_ deal of denial, or even an outright refusal to look at him. This is _much_ better, and so he relaxes a fraction, offering him a smile. “Good. You remember me. I’m _fairly_ sure this isn’t a dream.”

“…Don’t be ridiculous,” Kaiba says, suddenly acutely aware of his location more than anything, and he grabs for the turtleneck by the side of the bed, yanking it over his head. “Dreams are absurd. What are you doing here? How did you get in my room? I have a state-of-the-art security system!”

“…You don’t have to get dressed,” Atem mildly remarks, sitting back a bit, his earrings jangling as he does. “I don’t know how I got here. I woke up here. Is the world ending, as far as you know?” 

“No more than usual,” Kaiba mutters, and he grabs for his phone by the bedside, scanning the screen to make sure he hasn’t received any alerts about a duel-related explosion. No, just the usual six thousand work-related emails, and he deletes them summarily without reading them, setting his phone down to stare at the ghost of a long-dead Pharoah sitting on the side of his bed. “Why are you in my room?” he demands again, as if the answer has changed in the last ten seconds.

“I don’t know,” Atem patiently repeats, staring up at him with a slow blink. “But I’m here, I suppose. I seem to be fairly corporeal.” He reaches out, prodding Kaiba’s arm to test that fact. “Someone—or something—must have summoned me.” 

“I didn’t summon you,” Kaiba says, as if he was accused of doing such a ridiculous thing. Still, his hand comes up, and he pokes Atem’s shoulder, frowning. “You’re the one who understands all this…occult nonsense. Why are you here? Why would it summon you to…here? What are you wearing on your feet?”

Atem heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Kaiba. When I say I don’t know, I mean it,” he wryly says, shrugging that same shoulder that Kaiba poked. “Someone powerful must have summoned me—or I’m a byproduct of a summoning that has to do with a Millennium item…or something like it. I don’t know why it would have brought me _here_ , specifically…I would’ve expected to be at Yugi’s, he’s way more likely to have something of mine I left behind.” He pauses, and shifts, unconcerned as he stretches out a leg and points a toe. “Gold. Some jade. Why?” 

“I don’t know,” Kaiba says, as if offended by the very question. This is almost so surreal, to have Atem here, in the flesh instead of the pale image he’s been summoning in his mind, every time he’s attempted to force his computers to simulate that familiar, ephemeral play style. “Should…should we do something? About you being here?” Once he says it aloud, it seems stupid, as if there’s something that he could _do_ about…whatever this is. 

“Probably,” Atem exhales, and promptly collapses down into the bed as if it’s very much his the moment his head hits a pillow. “I could contact the Ishtar family. They’d be the most likely to know…but I’d like a moment to _not_ think about being necessary to defeat a dark god again, frankly.” He shuts his eyes. “I was having a good rest.” 

Kaiba is silent for a moment, watching him unabashedly, his dark eyes searching. The tension of possibility hangs heavily in the room, with part of him vibrating with the urge to challenge Atem to a duel, the rest of him whispering that something else, something different has to happen now. The tension builds until it’s an itch, and he pushes back the blankets around his waist, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit up, next to the pharoah. “What’s it like?” he can’t help asking. “The…whatever. Not that I believe in the Afterlife, but…wherever you were.”

“Because you don’t believe in anything but science, right?” Atem’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Relaxing. Warm. No, I take it back, it’s not that relaxing—but it _is_ what I like. You’re there. Well, I amend that. Your _past_ self is there.” 

“I don’t like that at all,” Kaiba says immediately, feeling oddly left out and offended all at once. “What does he have to do with anything? Nothing!”

“He…has a lot to do with everything, actually?” 

“Whatever!” Kaiba glowers, and folds his arms over his chest. “Well. You’re here now. Congratulations, you’ve seen a room that only my household staff is allowed to see. You should feel honored.”

“The bed is nice,” Atem allows, and contently begins to make a nest of it by crawling more firmly into the middle of it. “I suppose if I was summoned here, there’s a reason for it, so I’ll stay.” 

“…Are you cold?” Kaiba asks, a bit reluctantly. “It was hot in Egypt. If that’s what you’re used to now…look, it isn’t a lot of sitting around and playing harps, is it? I’ll freeze myself forever on the verge of death if it is, I’d rather turn into a zombie.”

“Your bedroom is positively freezing, if that’s what you’re asking,” Atem frankly tells him, and disappears mostly underneath a blanket a moment later. “Better. No, it isn’t a lot of sitting around and playing harps, I’d lose my mind. Think about who you’re talking to for a moment. _This_ blanket is good,” he decides quickly, dragging a ridiculously _heavy_ blanket over with a grunt of effort. 

“That’s a specialty one,” Kaiba protests, fighting the urge to snatch it out of Atem’s hand. “Maybe if you didn’t go around in a miniskirt all day you wouldn’t be so cold.”

Atem pauses, turns his head, and shoots him a pointed look. “First of all, that’s not what it’s called. Second of all, would you rather I take it off?” he dryly asks, just as his head hits the pillow. “And dress more _appropriately_ in head-to-toe clothing?” 

“It is more appropriate,” Kaiba mutters, not meeting Atem’s eyes. “Are you going to sleep? In my bed? You’ve got to be joking.”

“It’s late, isn’t it?” Atem says, rolling to look for a clock, and isn’t disappointed. “Or early, I suppose. I’m not going to save the world at three in the morning unless a cursed thief king has risen again. I have no idea why you bothered putting a shirt on.” 

“There’s someone here, it’s only appropriate,” Kaiba says, for some reason insulted. “Oi. It’s three in the morning. Get out of my bed or move over.”

Atem blinks, surprised that he hasn’t been outright told to leave. It _is_ Kaiba, after all. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he shifts, dragging his new favorite blanket with him, remaining curled up rather like a glittery golden cat on the opposite side of the bed. “It’s a good bed,” he offers up again. “Much more comfortable than I expected.” 

Kaiba tugs his turtleneck back off, and tugs one of the other blankets over him. Absurd, that he thinks he has even the slightest chance to sleep with someone in his bed, but doing anything else would feel like admitting defeat. “If you kick me in your sleep, I’ll throw you out the window,” he threatens, and shoves over one of his pillows, offering it to Atem. “If you start to vanish before I wake up, try to poke me first.”

“Mmn? Don’t tell me…you actually like that I’m here?” Atem idly asks, wrapping his arms around the pillow and staring over it with half-lidded eyes. “I’ll try my best not to vanish, though considering I have no idea why I’m here, no guarantees.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Kaiba mutters, turning to lie fully facedown, face mashed into the pillow, arms at his sides. “I just know there was a reason you said goodbye to everyone but me. We have unfinished business.”

“…so you did pay attention, huh,” Atem exhales, eyes lingering on the musculature of Kaiba’s back for a moment—very like that of Priest Seth, and very not, at the same time—before he forces himself to shut his eyes. “You’re right. We do.” 

Kaiba feels the eyes on him, the back of his neck prickling, and staunchly refuses to look over at him, when his blood starts to thunder again, heart pounding in a way that only Atem has ever been able to achieve. “I haven’t forgotten,” he mumbles into the pillow, and closes his eyes, determined to pretend to sleep.

Atem, as it were, is only a polite bedmate for about an hour, before dozing off completely, exhausted from whatever odd summoning dragged him to this timeline again. 

He does not just sprawl—he sprawls, crawls, and curls, determined to find warmth when the temperature does not suit a warm-weather creature’s sensibilities. This results in coiling up in a ball firmly against Kaiba’s side, warm breath escaping against his shoulder as he half-buries his face there, and remains in place until the sun starts to rise…at which point, Atem then shifts, avoids the sun’s rays, and stuffs his face wholly into Kaiba’s neck

That is the final straw.

Kaiba, after getting exactly zero minutes additional sleep, but unwilling to admit defeat and find a sofa, finally shifts at that last indignity, grabbing Atem by the shoulders and rolling, pinning him down. “Oi! I told you that if you couldn’t be polite…”

Several sensations suddenly shoot through him at once. Math breaks them down in a crystalline fractured second, into molecular components, each suspended in the stillness of the time between breaths.

First—Atem is warm against him, body pressed against his, and that warmth calls to an unaccustomed warmth in himself, his body rousing in a way he always avoids if he can.

Second—the sun illuminating the room makes Atem’s skin look like burnished gold.

Third—he, Kaiba, is currently holding Atem by the shoulders, pinning him down, and his body registers much faster than his brain that _this is sort of like a position that seems like a sex thing_.

The second shatters, and he sucks in a breath, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open as he stares down at Atem, words failing him.

“Mmn…?” The opposite of Kaiba—extremely capable of sleeping anywhere with anyone, and even slower to wake—Atem’s eyes slowly flutter open, and he blinks up at Kaiba groggily for a moment, sleep-smudged kohl and a missing earring completing the look of a pharaoh that fell asleep at the soonest opportunity. “Seth?” he sleepily asks. “What…ah.” 

Then his brain processes and catches up, and realizes that it isn’t Seth—well, it’s Seto, but not _Seth_ —above him, and the too-white, too-pristine room is definitely different than the norm. The night’s events rush back to him, and Atem takes stock of where he is more clearly, complete with Kaiba’s hands holding him down, as it were. “…Yes?” he finally, mildly asks, making absolutely no attempt to move.

_Why does it feel right?_

The words are frozen on Kaiba’s tongue, his eyes wide and confused in their intensity. The closest this feeling has come to something familiar is certain times when he’d acted without thinking—around Atem, always around Atem, why is it _always_ around Atem?—and felt that rewarding, suffusing thrill inside. It’s the feeling he’d had on that fateful, ridiculous day, when the world destroyed and remade itself, when he couldn’t do nothing, when he couldn’t turn his back on what felt correct, and he’d thrown up a Defense Wheel out of desperation. 

He searches Atem’s eyes, searching for an answering chime, something that tells him he’s not the only one feeling the odd, poignant call.

Then the words on Atem’s lips catch up to his ears, and time crashes forward again. _’Seth?’_ Atem had asked, soft-eyed and warm. For the first time, with an odd twist in his gut, Kaiba doesn’t feel like he has the right to his own name, and he pulls back, turning away from Atem, squeezing his hands into fists to stop them from trembling. “You woke me,” he says brusquely, his own voice sounding hollow to his ears.

To be completely honest, it isn’t often that Atem feels he’s done something wrong. Kaiba’s reaction makes him rethink, however, and he’s suddenly much more awake, what with how his heart drops to his stomach. “…I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The way Kaiba acts makes that uncomfortable, twisting feeling in his gut even worse now that Atem _knows_ more—seeing this Seto is so at odds with the other that it would be frustrating, if it didn’t just make him feel lonely. Atem hesitates before he reaches out a hand as a peace offering, gingerly attempting to rub out where his face had noticeably pressed into Kaiba’s shoulder, leaving tell-tale streaks of black behind. _Whoops_. “I got cold. You were warm.” 

Being honest with himself isn’t something Kaiba likes doing. It seems like a waste of time, more often than not, and feelings are easy to ignore. 

So why should it be that Atem’s voice saying his name like that, soft and warm and expectant, should make him feel so alive and so alone all at once?

Words fail him—they’re clumsy anyway, compared to the brilliant simplicity of math and science—and Kaiba forces breath past his lips, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he clenches his teeth together. “Atem,” he finally says, his eyes closed, but he can’t think of a thing to say after that.

“Hmm?” Atem’s eyes flick up, his hand stilling for a moment. He slowly lets it drop, and then shifts, partially leaning to the side to better peer up at Kaiba’s face. “You can use your words,” he patiently says. “I’m not going to make fun of you.” 

“…Have you ever dueled him?”

It’s not what he’d meant to ask—not at _all_ —but now that the words are out, Kaiba can’t deny he wants to know the answer as badly as he’s ever wanted to know anything.

Atem’s head cocks, rather birdlike. “Dueled him? Who—oh.” He pauses, lips parted, then he pointedly distracts himself by digging around for wherever his lost earring had gotten to. “Obviously, it wouldn’t be exactly the same as it is here, but…yes.” 

“Who won?” Kaiba doesn’t move, can’t move, can’t open his eyes, until he knows the answer.

Atem snorts at that. “Me, of course.” 

Kaiba isn’t entirely sure why that’s the right answer, but it is. He turns, and meets Atem’s eyes, his own searching, searching for something he can’t name. “Good.”

Atem pauses his search, blinking slowly up at Kaiba, and then calmly reaches up, and plucks his earring right out of Kaiba’s hair. “…Found it,” he lightly says, mouth twitching into a smile again. “I don’t know why you even asked. It’s just you, again. Of course I’d win.” 

“So you think. You’ve been dead. I’ve been _improving_ ,” Kaiba says haughtily, even if his scalp tingles so hard at the place where Atem had touched him to remove that earring that he feels lightheaded. 

“How long has it been?” Atem asks curiously, fiddling with the earring for a moment to put it back on. He fails, and sighs. “Also, I regret to inform you, I was dead all along, and I _thought_ you said no one else was a worthy enough opponent…” 

“It’s been—“ Kaiba pauses, counting, and curses under his breath. “Almost a year. Since…Egypt. Give me that,” he says tersely, and takes the earring out of Atem’s hand, his long, clever fingers taking it deftly, leaning in to set the tip at the tiny hole in Atem’s ear. “A long year.”

The abrupt quickening of his pulse is probably audible. If that isn’t, then his hard swallow _definitely_ is. Kaiba touching him on his own accord is startling in and of itself, but as unfamiliar as that is, the _gesture_ coming from Seto isn’t, and Atem finds himself oddly out of breath for a moment. “…Ah,” he faintly says, his eyes flicking up towards Kaiba’s again. “A long year. I see.” 

“They’re all the same length,” Kaiba says, frowning as he threads the earring through, then secures it into place. “Just call it an unpleasant year.” _Without you there._ No, no, even in his own head, that sounds absolutely ridiculous. It’s only that his last two tournaments have been pathetically boring.

“…So you missed me,” Atem concludes, because one can’t _ask_ Kaiba anything like that; one has to assume. He tips his head slightly, and the freshly affixed earring jangles again. “You’ve been bored.” 

“Bored? _Bored?_ I’ve been designing state-of-the-art computer systems that are more complicated than anything you could ever dream of,” Kaiba says, nose in the air. “I’ve organized and run two full tournaments, _without_ a single god ruining any valuable property. I’ve won every single duel I’ve played. I...have been _so_ bored,” he admits with a groan, wiping a hand down his face. 

“Heh. I knew it,” Atem triumphantly says, immediately leaning forward and closer to him, his eyes sparkling. “I’m not gone yet. I’ll duel you, while I’m still here…however long that might be.” 

Kaiba’s eyes light up. “Did you bring back a deck? Ahaha, it doesn’t matter, you can borrow some of my cards, I’ve been acquiring more. You can’t have Blue Eyes White Dragon, though, but any of the others!”

“I don’t want to use Blue Eyes White Dragon, don’t worry. There’s a condition, though.” 

“Fine,” Kaiba says, his expression more full of life than it has been since—well, for a year. “The roof has a dueling ring, there’s also three in the basement and one in the pool, do you have a preference?”

“You haven’t even heard the condition yet, you should learn to be more cautious,” Atem says, leaning back with a snort. “Wait—did you say _in_ the pool?” 

“In case anyone wants to use a water or chlorine based deck, of course,” Kaiba says, a bit impatiently. “Beating someone who believes they’re going into the duel with every advantage is far more satisfying. I don’t care what your condition is, I accept.”

“Fair enough. All right. Then it has two parts instead of one, because you’re so willing.” Atem holds up two fingers. “One, admit you missed me.” The first finger goes down, then the second as he adds, “Two, start remembering that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” 

“Y-you’re—“ Horrified, Kaiba stands from the bed, forgetting he’s in nothing but underwear, as stricken as if Atem had told him the condition was to sacrifice Mokuba on an altar to Zorc. “Ridiculous!”

Atem blinks up at him, deliberately wide-eyed and innocent. “You _said_ you accepted.” 

“I—“

Well, he doesn’t have to _mean_ it, does he? No, no, that won’t do, lying about something so trivial is just as bad as requiring it. Kaiba bares his teeth, folds his arms over his chest, and huffs. “Explain the second part.”

Atem’s lips curve into a slow, catlike smile. “All right. Be nicer. Or at the very least, try to put your best foot forward. Around me, specifically. You can be rude to whoever else, that’s fine.” He sprawls back out, eyes still locked on Kaiba—or, rather casually, on the rest of him. _Thighs_ , Atem contemplatively thinks to himself before wrenching his eyes back up. “Attempts and decent efforts will be accepted as tributes.” 

“Left foot forward,” Kaiba repeats mockingly, “to offer my heart to the Pharoah? Is that what you want from me? Is that how I win this game?”

Atem shrugs a shoulder. “If you want to think of it like that. Your past self seemed to do pretty well for himself that way, so I know it’s in there…somewhere.” 

“And is he always sweet to you?” Kaiba asks, and his voice is oddly soft and dark-sounding to his own ears. “Does he give you the honey you desire?” Too late, far too late, he hears how the words sound, and his face flushes as he turns away. “Don’t answer that, I didn’t mean—“

“Don’t you _dare_ say you didn’t mean it,” Atem sharply interrupts, sitting up again in a flash of movement, and reaches out, snatching Kaiba around again as he reaches for his arm. He huffs out a breath, scowling up at him. “Stop it. The gods sent me back here _to you_ for a reason. Even if we don’t know what that is yet, it’s foolish to set that aside.” 

Kaiba sucks in a breath, and his vision, his world narrows until all he can see is Atem, blazing gold like Ra himself, the weight of his presence heavy in the world, pinning it down. Perhaps that’s what’s been missing for the last year, leaving Kaiba feel like the only heavy object on an enormous suspended sheet, as if he’s the only thing of consequence in a world of frivolity. 

None of that feels like something he can put into words, though. The way he’d chased Duel Monsters as a means to real meaning in his life, certain that there was some larger purpose behind winning, only to find that there was, and it was _Atem_ , only for him to vanish right afterwards—

No, he can’t say that, either.

“When people say things happen for a reason, they say it to give them an excuse to fail,” Kaiba says, his voice harsh, though the words feel empty, no matter how many times he’s said them with scorn. “The reason things happen is so other things can happen. We create our own destiny.”

“I’m _saying it_ to try and give you a chance to _succeed_ ,” Atem says, an edge of desperation in his voice as his fingers squeeze around Kaiba’s wrist. “I’m not trying to make fun of you, or make you do something you’ll hate. I…” He trails off, frustrated, and he releases Kaiba again. “I just wanted to hear you say that you missed me. If you didn’t, you don’t have to lie.”

“Why?” The second Atem lets him go, Kaiba grabs at his wrist, his fingers closing around a thick golden band. “Why do you want to hear it? Why does it matter what I say? Why are you here, with me, when you could have spent your time with any of them?”

“It matters because I say it matters,” Atem stubbornly says, lifting his chin to glower back up at Kaiba, making no attempt to pull away. “And I want to hear it because I do. Is it such a horrible thing to want to _hear_ you give a damn? Because I _know_ you do, but that’s not enough when we’re behind a shut door and you don’t _have_ to keep your mouth shut. It’s simple.” His mouth purses. “Stop being an ass or I won’t duel you.” 

…He _had_ already agreed, hadn’t he?

If he’s being honest, sometimes it’s been feeling…tiresome, to keep up the walls.

A year is a long time to go without feeling the rush of challenge, or, if he’s being honest with himself, the rush of never knowing if he’s going to come across someone that makes his pulse beat quickly. Knowing that he isn’t going to meet Yugi—meet _Atem_ —makes every day a little dimmer, more full of business and meetings and cold gray steel, less full of the brightly-sparkling winds of divine change that had blown his life into resounding, exhilarating chaos.

The less any game feels as if it has the power to send the thrill of victory through him the way games used to, when they were the only things he could master.

His hand tightens on Atem’s armbrace, and he looks down, eyes blazing as he meets Atem’s. “I don’t want you to go,” he says, and something behind the words aches.

“…All right.” Atem’s glare immediately disintegrates, and he smiles, switching his grip to clasp Kaiba’s arm in turn. “Then I’ll stay. Well, as long as I can. I’ll sleep elsewhere, though, if you hate me in here so much…” 

“No,” Kaiba says shortly. “There aren’t any other beds in my house, except Mokuba’s, and you can’t have that. That would be weird.”

“I was _going_ to call Yugi and ask to stay with him, but if you insist.” Atem’s eyebrows raise. “The problem is you don’t sleep like…well, never mind. You don’t care about past lives, so I guess I’ll keep it to myself…”

“…You can tell me about him.” Kaiba’s voice is quiet, speculative, his blue eyes dark. “On one condition.”

“…All right.” Atem sits up a bit more, immediately more alert. “I’m refusing to take my own advice about conditions, and am agreeing in spite of knowing nothing.” 

Kaiba lifts his chin, his gaze demanding. “Tell me. Do you think of him as me? As my past life? Or as a separate person?”

Atem’s head tilts the other way as he considers the question. “…You’re completely different,” he bluntly concludes after a pause. “As different as I am from Yugi. Even if you look similar and act similar about some things, there’s too much that’s different.” 

“Why? What makes me different from him?” For once, there’s no desperate anger in Kaiba’s voice, just honest curiosity about something he’s struggled with understanding. “When I first saw that vision…I thought it was you and me. Maybe some strange cosmic echo, the random alignment of atoms just happening to reoccur three thousand years later. But…with _her_ involved, I know it’s more. So, tell me, if you remember him now. What’s different?”

“…Quite a lot,” Atem softly says, his voice fond all the same. He pats the bed with one hand. “Sit again. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, now that I remember.” He tugs a blanket up and around his shoulders, huddling back up into that. “You know, for all we’ve spent time dueling with one another, we’ve rarely had a real conversation.” 

“True enough, I suppose.” Kaiba takes a seat, all of his attention on Atem, turning to tuck his long legs up onto the bed. “I’ve never had much time for…pleasantries. And your little idiot group has always been impenetrable.”

Atem chooses to ignore that slight. “You’re both ambitious and passionate to a fault,” he says. “And both incredibly intelligent…and loyal, when you decide you want to be. The difference…” He trails off, shrugging a lean shoulder underneath the blanket. “I suppose it’s always going to be different knowing someone since you were a child. I learned a lot from him, growing up. He was ten years older than me, and I thought it was very fun to be better than him at things. He was not good at hiding his distaste, even though he _should’ve_ faked it, because I was the prince. I guess I must’ve liked that, heh.”

“Is that right?” Kaiba’s lips twitch at the thought. He very carefully does _not_ tell Atem that that’s more compliments than he’s ever had directed at him from someone he respects, who doesn’t seem to have an ulterior motive. “I suppose that makes sense. You have always acted as if you expect me to be your loyal servant.”

“Have I? Hmm. Well.” Atem looks off innocently to the side. “At any rate. He was always very protective towards me. I may have used that to my advantage and been a pest. I think that kind of thing is inevitable, though, when you’re lovers."

The word arcs into Kaito as if it’s pure electricity, and he leaps to his feet, his fight or flight adrenaline instincts activated. 

Atem blinks up at him slowly. “Somehow, you have the same look on your face as when I activate weird trap cards on you.”

“That’s how I feel!” Kaiba’s eyes are wild, and he attempts to force his pulse to calm, hands clenched into fists, and he sits back on the bed. “You and he…you could have warned me.”

“…I honestly thought I was being fairly obvious about all of it, but I am just now understanding that I should have been extremely blunt.”

“Say ‘direct,’” Kaiba mutters. “I—it isn’t that I didn’t have an idea, when you seemed to think it was normal to have me—when I woke you.”

An amused look passes over Atem’s face. “You mean waking up to Seth pushing me into the bed?” he mildly says, deciding that he rather enjoys watching Kaiba twitch. “Yes, I suppose that was a normal occurrence when I used him as a pillow.” 

“Some loyal and devoted servant,” Kaiba mutters. “Sounds like he took pleasure in his small rebellions after all.”

“Yes. Just like you. That part is the same, but you try to play the role of a businessman instead of a priest. Are you going to try and run every time I start to talk about how I kissed your past self?”

“I don’t know that it’s anything I need to hear,” Kaiba says, somewhat offended, though he doesn’t move away. “Such things were different in that time, I know. I’m no fool.” He pauses, then adds, in a Coptic form of Ancient Egyptian, “I’ve done plenty of research.”

Atem’s eyes immediately light up, and he sheds his blanket to instantaneously slither closer to Kaiba. “You actually learned that?” he excitedly asks, switching to his native tongue as if he’s been waiting for exactly that. “In just a year?” 

Fast, and with a dialectical flair that makes Kaiba’s breath catch for some reason—he’d _known_ the language would sound mysteriously lovely in Atem’s mouth, and had given himself every possible shot at being able to understand, when he finally managed to reunite them. “I wasn’t going to let you get away from me without finding another way to finish our business, and who knew if spiritual translation would work the same way in the afterlife? I _am_ a genius, after all,” he adds, all of his words in the closest approximations he can find in the ancient tongue.

“I haven’t heard _anyone_ speak this tongue in this age since—hmm. Malik cursed at me once,” Atem thoughtfully says, setting his hands on one of Kaiba’s thighs unthinkingly as he leans in, rather like a perching bird. “How did you learn it? I thought it was a lost language entirely. You’re _very_ good at it.” There are a few tiny things he’ll point out later, but it’s best to never criticize Kaiba Seto, especially when he is doing a particularly nice thing. 

Hand!

Hand!

Heat flushes through Kaiba’s entire body, that hand on his thigh a stone cast into a still pond, sending ripples of warmth and aching hunger through him. Contact has always been an oddly double-edged sword for Kaiba, as far back as he can remember. The smallest brush of fingertips was always enough to calm him, uncommon as it was in the orphanage, far less common after that. Even a squeeze from Mokuba’s hand on his could be enough to turn his entire emotional state from something wildly upset to something tolerable. Such things were nonsense, of course, but it’s a wise man who knows his weaknesses, and Kaiba can’t remember a time a contact ended without him wanting more, no matter how he’s always been too proud to say anything. 

That whole group, Yugi and Jounouchi and…whoever the others were, Kaiba always saw them clinging to each other, holding hands, sitting close, hugging. It was as if they were aliens, surrounded by the sort of bounty that was forbidden to Kaiba’s species. It seemed impossible, anyone would give out such touch so often, for free, and had always been certain he was missing some sort of secret. 

What had Atem been saying? Kaiba’s mind spins, and he swallows hard, fear spiking as he realizes it’s been too long since Atem’s stopped speaking, and if he doesn’t start acting normal soon, Atem will realize he’s having a crisis and withdraw his hand. 

Something about—

Language! Right!

Mustering all of his determination, Kaiba nods, and marshals his thoughts. “It isn’t entirely lost. They discovered an artifact that translated it into Latin—and from then, of course, it’s easy enough, if you know Latin.” He doesn’t bother adding that he does. That’s obvious.

Atem pretends not to notice that pause. It isn’t out of any graciousness, but out of a selfish desire for Kaiba to keep being _pleasant_ , and chatty, and not bolting away when he touches him the tiniest, thoughtless little bit. “And you know Latin…obviously,” he says with a laugh, lingering _too close_ for a moment longer before he withdraws, as if he doesn’t notice, enough to give Kaiba a reprieve. “I’m still impressed. It’s not an easy language. Hehhh, now we can talk like this and no one will have a clue.” 

“Do _you_ know Latin?” Kaiba asks, curious as he leans in a bit, as if being drawn like a puppet, unable to let Atem even a millimeter farther away from him. “It came about after your time, but so did cell phones, and you seem to know how to use them just fine.”

Atem shakes his head. “I know about cell phones because Yugi knows about cell phones,” he wryly points out. “It’s easy to sort of…merge that kind of conscious together, when you live in someone’s heart. I _was_ sixteen when I died.” 

“What does that have to do with Latin?” Kaiba asks, blinking. “I learned it when I was eight. But if you really are three thousand years from your original time period, you would be far too early for proper Latin.”

Yugi would be proud of him for seizing this perfect opportunity. “Mmm. I was too busy learning from aliens about computers.” 

“You—what?” Shock and horror war for dominance on Kaiba’s face as he pulls back, eyes wide, mouth agape. “You’re lying!”

“Why would I lie about that?” Atem asks, completely straight-faced. “How do you think I was able to adapt to _all_ of your technology so quickly?” 

“The—the bullshit about hearts,” Kaiba says, stammering a bit. “Merging, all that nonsense. Friendship, I don’t—that’s a _completely_ discredited theory! I can’t accept it!”

Atem shrugs a shoulder. “And yet I lived it…so we’ve reached an impasse. They had even faster computer chips, just so you know.”

“Get up, we’re going to Egypt.” Are archaeologists listed in the directory? Surely he has someone that can hire an archeologist on demand, money solves everything. If Pegasus could do it, anyone could, and Kaiba is _far_ superior to Pegasus!

“Eh…I feel as though that’s a poor choice without proper planning, if there _is_ something brewing…” 

“We’re going to take my Blue Eyes White Dragon jet,” Kaiba informs him, as though this is an obvious acceptable substitute for proper planning of any kind. “Tell the Afterlife you’ll be a while. I need to find these computer chips.”

“Kaiba. I’m messing with you.” 

“…” Kaiba turns, very slowly, to face Atem, face set in a dark scowl. “You’re a bastard,” he growls, and grabs for his phone, firing off a few quick text messages.

Atem grins, entirely unfazed. “I do appreciate your enthusiastic desire to dig deep into my country,” he drawls, leaning closer until he nearly topples into Kaiba’s shoulder, unused to the way this particularly soft, squishy bed gives underneath him. “Want me to keep telling you about your past life? You had longer hair under all that priest mess.”

“Like you said, that wasn’t me,” Kaiba says, trying to will his breath not to catch at the way Atem touches him so casually. “Haven’t you been reunited with him in your Afterlife? He’s probably worried about you or something. Heh, would it make him jealous to know you’re in my bed?”

And why does he like that idea so much?

“He’s not you, but he’s still part of you,” Atem says, straightening himself up enough to lean instead of drape. Kaiba is _warm_ , and while he isn’t being shrugged off, it’s best to make the best of it. “You can be different people while still sharing that. But to answer your question—yes, he’s definitely losing his mind right now, and yes, incredibly, he’d be very annoyed. With me, with you. He’d likely want to duel you. With swords, not cards, I’m afraid.” 

“Me?” Kaiba huffs, turning to give Atem a side-eye, though not enough to dislodge him. “I’m not the one…never mind.” Too lighthearted by far, Atem might even take it as an unforgivable insult.

Atem’s stare is intent. “No, finish that sentence.” 

“…You’re the one acting like a...like you want to be in someone else’s bed,” Kaiba manages to force out, and feels an odd surge of nerves, as if he isn’t certain whether he’s allowed to tease Atem like this, as if it’s going much too far (hence, why he’d amended his initial sentence from _like a slut_ ).

“I’m Pharaoh, I can do what I want,” Atem says with a snort, clearly amused. “I wasn’t ever married even. _He’s_ the one that was jealous, and yes, he’s like you, so he’d absolutely be jealous of his future self—“ That comes with a level stare. “Just like you’re jealous of him. See, you have plenty in common.” 

That confidence. That damned confidence. It sets off the heat in him again, making Kaiba swallow before he turns to give a scornful look, folding his arms over his chest. “Hmph. What reason does he have to be jealous?”

“…Well, I slept in your bed,” Atem points out, his amusement growing. “And he’d be likely to extrapolate, whether what he comes up with is true or not. I imagine you’ve been attempting to do the same about him in all kinds of ways.”

“That’s different! You told me you’re his lover!” 

Kaiba hadn’t known saying the words aloud would shake him like that. He stands, more slowly this time, frowning at himself and the odd, hollow pangs going through him. “I have to go, I have meetings this morning. I have to get ready.”

Atem hesitates for a moment, lips parted, then he settles back again, frowning as he tries to pinpoint exactly where he pressed the wrong button in Kaiba Seto’s mind. “…All right. You’re sure you’re fine with me staying here?”

“I doubt you could figure out my tech enough to ruin it,” Kaiba says curtly, and grabs a button-up shirt, tie, and suit-jacket from the closet where they hang, neatly pressed and color-coded. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The cross look Atem casts at Kaiba’s back is softened, vaguely, with the rather delighted realization that he’s never seen Kaiba dress that nicely and clean-cut. Hm. “Great. I’m going back to sleep,” he says, quick to slide his way back into the blankets properly as his eyes roam. “It’s early.”

Kaiba strips off his turtleneck, dressing swiftly, the lean muscles in his back and arms only briefly visible before disappearing beneath crisp cotton. Trousers follow from the dresser, and he makes for the door, adjusting his necktie. “You sleep too much. If you need anything to eat…” With dawning horror, he thinks of anyone discovering a long-dead pharaoh in his bedroom. “…Order UberEats. I’m sure you can figure it out with an alien computer.”

“It would not be my first time,” Atem dryly says, quite deliberately making his pillow selection based on the one Kaiba had slept on the night before. His eyes linger, peering over the edge of the pillow, following Kaiba’s every move. “You don’t sleep enough.”

“I hate sleep,” Kaiba mutters, turning his collar down and donning his suit-jacket. “I never get anything done then. If you’re not on top, you’re on the bottom.”

Atem takes in a breath as if to say something, then somehow, manages to not follow through. “Have good meetings,” he says, burrowing down into the bed again. “I’ll duel you later, for something to look forward to.”

“Don’t say that!” Kaiba curses to himself, his eyes an intense scowl as he fixes them on Atem. “Now I won’t be able to think about anything but you in my meetings!” With that, he turns, huffing, and stalks out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

The day passes uneventfully and quietly as Atem catches up on sleep that he wasn’t _quite_ aware he was lacking so greatly. Apparently, being summoned through time and transversing the laws of the universe _does_ have a toll on one’s body, and Kaiba Seto’s bed is an excellent place to recover. 

Eventually, when he wakes, far more well-rested (if not significantly chillier, without body heat to warm him thoroughly), Kaiba still isn’t back. Atem attempts to preoccupy himself for about fifteen minutes with the state of Kaiba’s extremely sparse, extremely well-organized room, but that, too, is boring, and he eventually discovers the kind of ridiculously high-tech attached bath, that has heated floors and too much of a shiny, white dragon theme for comfort. _He is seriously an idiot._

It is a bit startling to see himself in this timeline looking like _this_. Atem peers into the mirror after scrubbing off the remainder of smudged kohl, and sighs. If he had the thought to blend into this world again, that’s simply _not_ happening. Methodically, he unclasps each piece of jewelry, leaving it on the bathroom countertop in a veritable pile of gold, and he absently rubs at his wrists, as if that’ll blur the lines of slightly less tanned skin hidden underneath it. 

“Big brother? Big broooother…” 

The bedroom door opens, and Mokuba’s head pokes in. “Huh. Still not back? Weird…” 

Uncaring, Atem pokes his head out. “Hey, Mokuba.”

“Uwa!”

And that, as it were, is how the afternoon is passed into early evening, with a card game spread out on Kaiba’s bed, after what is likely an questionable amount of Indian takeout. At some point, Atem morphs less into pharaoh, more into bored-teenager-definitely-‘borrowing’-his-friend’s-shit, which is accomplished even more thoroughly when Mokuba says “sure, he probably won’t care about _that_ shirt” and minus jewelry _and_ clothing from three thousand years ago, Atem wins another game wearing one of Kaiba’s white button-downs (that touches his knees, just about).

Work is…fine, Kaiba supposes. His new policy of firing anyone who calls a meeting that could easily be an email instead has been paying dividends, and he’s able to get some things actually accomplished, which would have seemed like a dream before the new strategy. There’s also the somewhat pleasant, somewhat annoying fact that there’s actually something waiting for him at home, making him feel all sorts of odd, uneasy, thrilling feelings, and because of that, he leaves early, arriving home during early evening instead of long past dark, as usual. 

He even finds time to text his housekeeper to prepare food before he arrives, something he often forgets, and he drives himself for a change, feeling the engines thrum underneath his touch. 

Upon arriving home, he loosens his tie immediately, calling, “Mokuba! I see your bike, I thought you were going to test heli-carts today!”

“Sorry, big bro!” Mokuba calls down, Kaiba’s bedroom door wide open without a single care. “I got distracted! You didn’t tell me Atem was here!”

“Indeed. It’s almost like it was a secret or something,” Kaiba says dryly, pulling his tie off, unbuttoning his cufflinks. “Atem, I hope you weren’t too bothered by the nuisance.”

“I’m not a nuisance!”

“Not at all, he’s been good company,” Atem offers up, eventually striding from the room to lean over the railing and peer down at Kaiba. “Did you really expect me to sit idle all day?”

“You were acting like someone took out all your batteries this morning,” Kaiba says, mentally deciding Atem does not need to die, which he would have if he had agreed that Mokuba is a nuisance. “I’m taking a shower. Mokuba, tell Cook what Atem wants for dinner, give her a challenge.”

“ _You_ try traveling from the afterlife and not being tired,” Atem deadpans, and he looks at Mokuba. “I can’t remember what it’s called here. Yugi never had any luck. Ta'amiya?” 

“Gonna Google that,” Mokuba mutters, already buried in his phone screen as he trots past him. “I’m on it.” 

Atem shrugs, not expecting much, and promptly wanders back into Kaiba’s bedroom, resuming his nesting state in the middle of Kaiba’s bed. “The fact I’m still here does not bode well for the state of the world, just putting that out there.”

“I don’t believe in omens,” Kaiba says automatically, sounding unconcerned as he strips off his suit jacket, and starts unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes sliding over to Atem in—

In _his_ shirt.

No, no, he can be casual about this—obviously, he’d need to wear _something_ —being casual and unbothered is a kind of winning! “If you wanted something comfortable to wear, Mokuba sent you to the wrong drawer,” he says, keeping his tone even, ignoring the way his cock tightens in his trousers at the sight. Well. He can finish changing in the bathroom like he’s fucking fourteen again, he supposes.

“I’m quite comfortable, thank you,” Atem says, entirely uncaring as he gathers up the playing cards strewn across Kaiba’s bed. He spares a look at Kaiba’s back out of the corner of his eye, because watching him strip is…not a bad thing. “I’m sorry to report that Mokuba doesn’t share your talent for games at all, by the way.” 

“He doesn’t need to,” Kaiba says immediately. “He can rely on me to play for him. I’ll always win if it’s for Mokuba. We have them in Japan, by the way. They’re called ‘falafel’ here.”

“Oh. Good to know.” Atem watches him for a moment longer, then slides down again, eyes lidded, chin in hand. “Your house is so quiet. No wonder you always want to be somewhere else.”

Startled, Kaiba looks up, pausing with his shirt half-unbuttoned, blinking slowly. “Isn’t it good?” he asks, confused. “No one bothers you. No one barges into your room, or annoys you when you’re focusing, or takes any of your things. It’s silent, secure, and absolutely private. Perfect.”

“…It doesn’t feel lonely to you?” Atem asks, head tilting. “It does to me. But I _did_ spend thousands of years locked in a tiny pyramid necklace, so I could be biased about preferring company.” 

Kaiba strips his shirt and undershirt off, pushes a button on the wall, and places them into a hole that suddenly appears, sucking the clothing away before disappearing behind a false wall panel again. “I suppose privacy was in short supply when I was young,” he allows, and opens the door to the bathroom. “Cook won’t knock when food is done, she knows better. But Mokuba will. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Mm.” Somehow, nothing is odd about this house anymore, but it _is_ still way too quiet. “I left my jewelry in there, by the way, so don’t move it. It’s probably all cursed at this point.”

Kaiba snorts, leaving his trousers on until he gets into the bathroom. 

Five minutes later, with hot water blasting him from above, he’s leaning against the shower wall, forehead braced against his forearm, panting as his other hand works his cock hard and fast, the way he’s been needing to ever since he found a smudge of eyeliner on his neck during a visit to the bathroom at work. It’s so easy to remember how Atem had felt, toned and lithe beneath him, murmuring his name—almost his name, good enough to be his name, Kaiba could make Atem moan his name _properly_ next time—

With a low groan, he comes over his fist, hips thrusting up hard as the water washes away the evidence, even as he milks himself dry. He gasps, straightening up and turning his face into the spray, letting the pulse of the water bleed away the thundering of his own blood

Ten minutes later, with the shower sealed and set firmly to the ‘sanitize’ cycle, Kaiba emerges, wrapped in a long white robe embroidered with KC over a pair of sweatpants and a familiar, beloved t-shirt with Blue Eyes White Dragon printed neatly on the front. His eyes are less stressed, though the perennially tired look hasn’t gone away. “Food here?”

“Food here,” Atem rather cheerfully greets, a generous plate in his hands, taken off the cart left in the room. “Mokuba took some and ran, said something about an arcade.” His eyes slide over Kaiba from head to toe, and he deliberately, carefully shifts, folding his legs underneath himself and keeping the borrowed shirt pulled over his knees, plate firmly situated in his lap. “Your cook did a good job.” 

Kaiba sits on the bed next to him, taking his plate of truffled risotto and sliced chateaubriand off of the cart, along with a glass of sparkling water. Then, totally at odds with the fancy plating, he tucks his sweatpants-covered legs up in front of himself, and tucks into the meal. “She can keep her job today,” he says with a rare smile. “I’m surprised a Pharaoh wouldn’t want something fancier than those.”

“This Pharaoh knows what he likes,” Atem says without an ounce of shame, popping another bite into his mouth. “‘Fancy’ is also sort of…relative, when you consider it was thousands of years ago.” His mouth twitches. “I don’t want to discourage this behavior, but I _have_ to comment. I can’t believe you even own a pair of sweatpants, so I feel like I’m seeing something extremely forbidden…” 

Kaiba gives him an even look, chewing a bite of perfectly-cooked steak, swallowing before answering. “I can own anything I want,” he says, lips twitching. “Like you said. Fancy is relative. Besides, they’re cashmere.”

“Are they really?” Atem asks, mystified, and reaches out a hand automatically to touch. “Huh.”

“From I—“ Kaiba’s voice stutters when Atem touches him, and he has to swallow hard around the sudden lump in his throat to make it start working again. _You’ve been indulged, leave me alone,_ he thinks, hissing at his budding erection. “Italy,” he finishes, after far too long a pause.

Atem’s eyes flick up to Kaiba’s face for a moment, but he graciously doesn’t remark on that stumble. Instead, he withdraws his hand—quite politely, he thinks. He should win an award for not teasing right now. “Mokuba told me about all the things you’ve been making lately,” he says, throwing Kaiba a bone to change the subject. “Apparently, the holograms are even more advanced? He says your holodeck is intense, these days.” 

“Hm! Yes!” Kaiba’s proud smirk feels more at home on his face, as he makes the rice disappear like a magic trick down his throat. “It’s entirely immersive, far beyond anything tech has devised so far. As long as you’re wearing one of my devices, everything you experience inside feels one hundred percent real to all of the five senses.”

“ _Really._ Then I definitely want to see it. You should take me tomorrow.” 

Kaiba nods, then pauses, and shakes his head. “No. I just remembered I’m going to blow it up.”

“Eh?” Atem blinks a few times, swallowing his next bite and certain he misheard that. “Wait. What?” 

“I just remembered that I’m blowing it up,” Kaiba repeats, feeling a single bead of sweat trickle down the back of his spine at the realization that he’d almost let Atem see his painstaking recreation of that day, ostensibly built to discover his own mistakes, but wouldn’t that be embarrassing? “I have other things we can do. I do own over a dozen amusement parks.”

Atem’s head slowly tilts. “All…right. But why are you blowing it up? Mokuba didn’t mention that.” 

“I—“ Damn, it had been a _lot_ of work, and the balance sensors were almost completely fixed. Kaiba sighs, then says, “Fine, I won’t detonate it. I haven’t laid the charges yet, anyway. Just let me…go in and wipe the last program before you get in there. It’s personal.”

The look that Atem gives him is skeptical. “If it’s about Blue Eyes, you _know_ I don’t care, right?” 

“No, the rendering on Blue Eyes is perfect,” Kaiba says, frowning. “It’s…a pet project. And you know more about it, so I don’t want to hear that I did anything wrong.”

“Mm. If you say so,” Atem says with a shrug. He resettles, letting one leg point off the side of the bed and dangle. “Whatever you want, then. I’m not here to criticize what you’ve been doing for a year.”

Kaiba puts his empty plate aside, and frowns. “You have to be bored. Do you want to go somewhere? You’re here, might as well make the best of it instead of waiting for the world to end in some sort of occult nonsense.”

“I’m bored out of my mind,” Atem brightly admits, finishing off a last bite of his own and leaning over to drop the plate back onto the cart. “I have no idea what to do with myself if I’m not nearly dying. I feel like it’s a bad idea to just…take off to gods know where, though, if something _is_ happening…” 

“…Fuck it, let’s go to the holodeck,” Kaiba says with a sigh. “I’ve decided to be humiliated in favor of further information. You can correct what’s wrong.”

“It’s about me, isn’t it.” 

“Conceited!”

“Yes, but I’m right.” 

“…Mokuba told you, didn’t he?”

“…He looked at me and said I should see the holodeck. I inferred.” 

Damn Atem’s duelist’s instincts. Kaiba huffs, and stands, going to his dresser. “I’d offer to loan you some clothing, but I think Mokuba’s would fit you better. Neither of us have a skirt, though.”

“It’s not a skirt,” Atem sighs, unconcerned as he collapses down into the bed onto his back. “It’s a shendyt.” 

“Get up, we’re going to the holodeck. I suppose you could put a belt around your waist,” Kaiba says with a smirk. “And wear my shirt as a dress.”

“All right,” Atem says without skipping a beat, rolling out of the bed and to his feet. “Realistically, I’m going to stand out no matter what I do. How many Japanese people have seen _anyone_ foreign in person?” 

“Oi. This is Domino City, not a province,” Kaiba says with a sniff. Well, if Atem is making a fool of himself, Kaiba isn’t going to stop him. “If nothing else, everyone has seen foreigners on TV. If they’re nervous, they can die.”

“Stop saying people should die,” Atem wearily says. “I _will_ scold you every time you do. Just give me one of your jackets, and I’ll deal with it properly tomorrow. We’re just going to _your_ holodeck, so who cares?” 

Kaiba pulls down his own coat, then hands another one to Atem, deliberately picking one with a hem not quite as long as his usual, dragging it up from the very back of his closet, where it’s been for five years, before his last growth spurt. “I don’t see why I should be kind to people who interrupt others. That’s just stealing my precious time away, why should I forgive them?”

“…I don’t know how to explain to you that you should be kind to other people in general,” Atem wryly says, tugging the coat on over his shoulders and bundling himself up quite sufficiently. Drowning in Kaiba’s coat is _far_ from a horrible thing. “Especially because I think you know the basics already.” 

“Of course I do.” Kaiba adjusts his lapels, and opens the door for Atem, his chin in the air. “But it doesn’t get you anything in this world.”

“I suppose that depends on who you talk to,” Atem says underneath his breath, stepping through with a nod of thanks. “…You know. It’s always so much less obvious how tall you are when we’re both sitting.” He squints up at Kaiba. “Some things transcend time.” 

“Hmph. I don’t have to rely on a stupid big hat,” Kaiba mutters, and strides for the front door, pushing a button that summons his favorite white sports car from his garage elevator, depositing it safely into the driveway outside by the time he tugs on his boots and opens the door. “Not today,” he says to the valet that stands by the car, and the man bows and hands over the keys, retreating back into the garage. 

“…He’s just as tall even without the hat,” Atem says as the valet leaves, shooting Kaiba an amused look. “Weirdly tall. Like you.” He opens up the passenger side door without ceremony, and deposits himself into the seat. “Good to know _I_ still have a personal valet.”

“Yes, O Great Pharaoh,” Kaiba says sarcastically, and presses on the gas, the car zooming out of the driveway and onto the unsuspecting streets of Domino City. 

Driving is good. Car, boat, plane, helicopter, or fighter jet, it always makes Kaiba feel like he’s back in control. He starts to relax behind the wheel, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Tell me your fantasy.”

“…You’re going to need to be far more specific about what you mean,” Atem cautions as he glances up, visibly taken off-guard for a moment. “Unless you’d like me to guess and run wild.”

“For the holodeck,” Kaiba elaborates, giving Atem a confused look as they pause at a stoplight. “So I can design something for you.”

“Ah. Right.” _Of course that’s what you mean._ Atem stretches his legs forward, exhaling a slow breath. “I’m mostly…curious about something.” 

“Hm?” Kaiba chuckles. “If it’s anything related to Duel Monsters, I promise it’s in there. Any summonable monster will appear with the exactly correct specifications, in any modification, but obviously you’ll be able to interact with them in ways you can’t when they’re simply holograms. It’s much closer to how things were done in your day.”

“I wonder if it’s different because I’m here now. About how sentient they’d be, I mean.” 

The idea sends a little shiver through Kaiba, and his hands tighten on the wheel. “It doesn’t make any sense, what I’ve done is science. So…probably. You always ruin my science.”

Atem’s lips curve. “Good. It sounds like you’ve accepted that.” 

“Until I can figure out how to decode what you’re doing into the science it obviously is, yes.”

“It’s not science, Kaiba. Some things just aren’t.” 

“In your day, they thought the change of the season was magic. Everything is science. I’m just not advanced enough to figure out _how_ yet.”

Atem heaves a sigh, shutting his eyes as he leans back in the seat. “Is that _your_ fantasy, then? To turn everything into science?” 

“That’s…why do you make that sound like a bad thing?” Kaiba demands. “I want to understand the world we live in. I suppose to you, Newton and Galileo were just spoilsports.”

“It’s one thing to want to understand it, it’s another thing to want to unravel it. You missed me, so you must not want to unravel it _too_ badly…” 

“…Huh?” Kaiba shoots him a look as he rounds a turn, incredulous. “What’s that supposed to mean? What do they have to do with each other?”

“I magically appeared in your bedroom through the expanse of time, and you like that so much you haven’t attempted to ‘science’ a reason for it. That’s what.” 

“I—am still thinking about it,” Kaiba says, stunned at how much that stings. “You’re saying it wrong. Just because I want to understand something doesn’t mean I have any less awe for it.”

Atem blinks, and glances at him for a moment, contemplative. “…Fair enough. You could stand to act more in awe of certain things, though.” 

Kaiba sniffs. “Like what? I’m not going to pretend to be impressed by everyday things.”

“I’m not going to _tell_ you what to be in awe of. You can figure it out.”

Kaiba pulls into an empty parking lot, the building nearby sleek and modern, and he parks neatly in a space by the door. “Big talk,” he gloats, “from someone who is about to be in awe of something _I_ created.”

“I usually am,” Atem says with a smile, throwing open the door and setting his feet on the cold pavement. “You’re very good at what you do.” 

The pride makes Kaiba flush, so much he feels his chest puff up with the praise. He sets his hand to the door, and it scans the biometrics quickly, the door opening with, _“Welcome, Kaiba Seto.”_

“And here I thought you’d been around people who worship you too much,” Kaiba murmurs, holding the door open for Atem.

Atem steps through without hesitation, as if it’s common practice to have Kaiba consistently chivalrous and attentive. “I have been,” he agrees, glancing up to Kaiba with a wry smile on his lips. “I know you won’t repeat this, so I’ll tell you. It’s actually exhausting, to be around those that _only_ say ‘yes’ and give you whatever you want.” 

Kaiba stares at him, stunned for a moment. “I—yes,” he says, as if he’s never heard anyone else say anything like it before. “Yes-men-ingitis. It’s the death of improving yourself.”

“Yes! Exactly!” Atem beams, lit up like the city itself. “I hate it. Maybe that’s why the gods spat me out in your room, hmm? We always have something to settle.”

“Why do you think my heart pounds every time I see you?” Kaiba asks, and immediately turns away, striding to the control panel to hide his face, mortified at the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m booting up the system. It automatically…don’t be surprised, you’re still here. And wear this.” 

He tosses over a small device that rests around half of the head, then activates the system, and suddenly, they’re back in Ancient Egypt, down to the baking heat of the obelisks above them.

That little throwaway statement can wait to be addressed, for when this isn’t happening.

Atem stares wide-eyed for a moment, glancing around—then down, wriggling his toes into the hot sand. “…This is…incredible,” he says honestly, glancing up at Kaiba again. “I don’t know what I expected, but…not this. But…why? You always talk about how much you hate Egypt, and everything to do with it…”

“I hated,” Kaiba says, annoyed, looking extremely out of place standing next to Atem, the desert winds ruffling his hair, “that I was being coerced into visions and prophecies and grand destinies of other people. I prefer to make my own destiny with my own hands. I hardly would have learned to write and speak the language if I thought the culture beneath my notice.”

Atem sucks in a breath as if to say something about that— _why can’t you just be the tiniest sliver more honest in what you say, even just sometimes—_ but bites his tongue, taking instead the scrap of vague appreciation that Kaiba throws out. Baby steps. Seth was the same way. “…So you made an Ancient Egyptian simulator just because you enjoy the culture,” he deadpans instead, shaking his bangs from his face. “Tell me more, Lord Priest.”

“You’re getting us confused again,” Kaiba says, irritated. He turns to Atem, informing him, “The purpose is to give me the proper coordinates for my next project, but it has to be _exact_ , in every detail, otherwise all of my calculations…”

He trails off, feeling the shadow approach. All at once, he realizes that he hadn’t disabled the most important part of the program the way he’d meant to.

He also realizes that it is too late, and he’s fucked.

“Hey, Kaiba,” says the hologram, looking just as real as the Atem standing at his side, but looking more mischievous, more open, more relaxed. He wears the sandals and tunic Kaiba had remembered, his skin a deep burnished bronze, eyeliner sharp and thick, hands resting on his hips as he strides up. “Come to play another game? I’ve been waiting for you.”

“There….there must be a bug in the program,” Kaiba says faintly, and tries to remember what he’d been _doing_ as the program booted up that he’d forgotten to delete the people. He’d gone over to do it, pulled up the controls—had his fingers slipped?

Atem stares for a long moment at the hologram of himself—the very lifelike, rather carefully…no, not just carefully, but _lovingly_ rendered hologram of himself. 

And then he chokes on a laugh, turning away to clamp a hand over his mouth. “So this is what you do even when I’m gone?”

“None of your business!” Kaiba snarls, vibrating with tension again. “Dead men don’t get to tell me how to enjoy myself!”

“He~eh,” says the traitorous hologram, as if Kaiba had said something a bit different, activating one of his canned phrase responses. “Sounds like a challenge to me. Very well, if you want to play—I won’t lose!”

Atem sputters out a laugh. “Is that really what you think I sound like?” he teases, whipping back around to face Kaiba, grinning. “Do you need me to record my voice for your hologram’s special lines? Hey, how often do you win? Does even the hologram beat you?” 

“It can’t.” Kaiba’s voice is bitter, and he glares at the hologram pharaoh, as if this is his fault. “It can only do what I program it to try. We don’t usually duel.”

“I brought the pieces,” Pharaoh Atem says, and flips Kaiba a carved token, rounded at the top, flared at the bottom. “I’ll even let you be white this time, since I beat you last time.”

“He didn’t,” Kaiba mutters, as the hologram brings out a Senet board, offering it in a rather cheeky manner. “He’s just programmed to say that.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Atem manages with another laugh, shaking his head. “Kaiba…ah, no, I don’t even know what to say. I _think_ I’m flattered.” He looks more carefully at the hologram, contemplative. “The basic essence is there, though you forgot some of the nicer gold pieces.” 

“I don’t think you were wearing them when I saw you last,” Kaiba mutters, as the hologram leads them further inside to the gaming chamber, and starts setting up the board. “I can fix it. Freeze simulation.”

The hologram freezes, even the wind paused, and Kaiba turns to the computer terminal, disguised behind an obelisk. He starts to type, flipping his way through designs as different pieces of gold jewelry appear on the pharaoh, then vanish, replaced with others. “The foot jewelry, I didn’t remember that one. Does this look right?”

“…I don’t know why I expected you to do anything else but exactly this,” Atem says underneath his breath, shaking his head to himself as he leans closer to better scrutinize. “Mm, that looks about right. It loops around the ankle, too. There you go. Also, if you want it to be really realistic, you _should_ be able to see the sunlines, when the hologram moves.” He pulls back the sleeve of Kaiba’s coat on his arm, holding it up to offer up the slightly paler skin beneath where gold usually rests on his arm. “It slips when I move, but you know. For accuracy.”

Kaiba’s blood rushes south, and he turns away, his coat swirling around his legs enough to conceal anything, he hopes. Mouth dry, he types quickly, fingers clattering on the keys, until a fine line between darker and lighter is visible. “I…” Can’t back down, then Atem will know something is troubling him, have to raise the stakes! “I could have him take it off, so you could check the accuracy.” The words are challenging, dangerous, and Kaiba isn’t certain what dark influence has possessed him.

Kaiba definitely thinks he’s being subtle, which is charming in and of itself. _Do you_ often _make your holograms of me strip for your amusement?_ Atem dryly thinks, throwing a sideways look up at Kaiba. “…You could,” he allows. “Though I think I trust you to make accurate holograms of me now.” 

Is that a compliment? It sort of _sounds_ like one, but Kaiba still finds himself suspicious, though that isn’t anything new. “All right. He can keep it for now, then. Anything else look wrong?” There’s one thing he’d taken out of the city, but it’s sort of embarrassing, and he really doubts a Pharaoh would notice the lack, anyway.

“With the way he looks? No, it’s close enough. How many duels did you watch to get those vocal clips from?” Atem wryly asks, and turns around, peering out over the sand and city. “I like how you did all of this. It’s much…more vibrant, than I remember it, in a lot of ways. I don’t hate that. Oh! Did you program yourself—er, Seth? Or are you the only one allowed to have a dragon here?” 

Kaiba shrugs. “I thought all the priests might be a part of the…the wavelength of the place, I would say. I don’t remember all of them, though,” he admits. “Or I never saw them. So…”

He pushes a few more keys, and six figures appear—Isis, wearing the tauk. Seth, with the rod. The others are less accurate, with Shada looking more like Shadi, bald head bare, Kalim and Akhenaden’s faces blocky and indistinct, and Mahaad simply looks like the Black Magician, special edition.

Atem heaves a long sigh. “There’s a lot of work to be done here. First of all, Seth’s skin is darker, fix it. Mahaad has long brown hair, he’s not quite as tall as you, and his robes—actually, no, if I get too accurate here, I’m going to miss them too much.” 

“You’ve been with them for the last year, haven’t you?” Kaiba asks, voice annoyed as he adjusts Priest Seth’s skin a few shades darker, then moves on to the magician, typing in the required specifications. 

“That doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to miss them,” Atem wistfully says. “I slept in your bed last night, but I still missed you when you left to go do your job for a few hours. It’s not any different.” 

Kaiba’s finger slips, and the magician suddenly snarls, hurling a fireball just past the two of them that burns so hot he flinches back from it. He hastily deletes that, and the magician goes back to a neutral pose, this time dressed like an Egyptian of the appropriate time period, the Millennium Ring on his chest. “Better?”

Atem starts, reflexively fluttering sideways and subsequently into Kaiba’s side. “Ah…yes. Much better. Can you maybe _not_ let us get injured by a hologram, though?”

“Would it be any good if it were completely safe?” Kaiba asks, cheeks hot. “I told you, it’s as accurate as possible.”

“It’s definitely as accurate as possible,” Atem faintly says, holding onto Kaiba’s arm without thinking now, his eyes lingering on Mahaad and the Millennium Ring. “That thing is still unnerving. Did you program the palace at all yet?” 

“How could I?” Kaiba asks, lips pursed, feeling an odd emotion swell up in him as Atem holds onto him, as Atem gazes at the magician. “I never made it inside. I only saw the city when it was being torn apart.” 

“I can try to help…though some of it would be hard to describe,” Atem dubiously says. “It might be easier to draw out. I know _my_ chambers backwards and forwards, and your—Seth’s study chambers, and the stables, and the throne room, more or less…ah. Question.”

“Yes?” Kaiba asks, determined not to say anything about Atem knowing Seth’s chambers so well, not when things are going…fine.

“If you didn’t make that hologram of me to duel, usually—what do you even _do_ here?” 

And that, unfortunately, is the real question that Kaiba has been avoiding answering. “If it’s boring, I have other locations,” he mutters, turning back to the computer. “I have graveyards, I have underwater kingdoms, I have pirate ships, spaceships…”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Atem patiently says, both hands on Kaiba’s arm as he peers up at him intently. “I like it. A lot. Obviously. But I thought you wouldn’t.”

Kaiba’s eyes are hooded, his fingers pausing above the keys, and he finally turns, his eyes on the hologram of Atem, standing with one hand on his hip, inviting him to a game. “Don’t you ever get tired?” he asks, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “Of everyone…everything? Wanting things from you?”

“…Yes.” The response comes a bit faster than Atem means for it to, but he doesn’t back down from it. “Yes. All the time.” 

“Building this…” Kaiba nods at the recreation all around them, in unquestionable pride. “It started as a study, but…the more I added, the more pride I started taking in it. Making it real, making it vibrant, as alive as I could make it. Besides. If you can’t win at Senet, why should you be worthy of playing Duel Monsters? All games are good, even without…effects.”

“…Mm. You’re not wrong about that,” Atem softly says, his eyes lidded as he looks around, the odd pang of loss twisting in his gut when he thinks about it all for too long. “I ran away from so much of this as a child,” he quietly admits. “I didn’t think anything of it, or really care _that_ much, and then it all…” He trails off, shaking his head as he withdraws again, his fingers curling against Kaiba’s arm one last time before he lets them drop, as if finally realizing he’s been holding on there. “Sorry. You did a great job with all of this, honestly.” 

Kaiba moves without thinking, putting a hand on Atem’s shoulder. “Do you want to leave?” he asks quietly. “Is it too much?”

Atem’s eyes flick to Kaiba’s hand, lingering there for a moment before he exhales a steadying breath. “I don’t want you to think I don’t like it,” he admits, his eyes sliding up to hold Kaiba’s again. “I do. I think…it’s _very_ cool. I’m really flattered that you’d even want to bother. It is a lot, though.” 

“Is it the Pharaoh? You want me to send him away?” Kaiba pushes a couple of buttons with his other hand, and the Pharaoh, the Senet game, and Priest Seth vanish. “It’s weird to see ourselves like that.”

“…You’re not wrong,” Atem wryly says, relaxing a bit. “Sorry that I don’t fit in very well here right now. Next time, I’ll try to dress like a Pharaoh for you.” 

“I never try to fit in,” Kaiba assures him, and kills the program entirely, leaving them in the dark, empty, enormous room. “They’re programmed not to notice or comment.” His lips twist, and he says, annoyed, “That wasn’t as much fun as I wanted it to be. Choose something else.”

“The city of Atlantis. No, don’t,” Atem says with a hasty laugh, holding up a hand. “It’s a joke. Kaiba, I’m enjoying myself, you don’t have to impress me constantly.”

“I’m not trying to impress you,” Kaiba says, offended as he pulls his hand away, feeling cold. “You’re the one who just showed up in my life. You—“

He bites his tongue, some of Mokuba’s words echoing through his head, something that had stung deeply, when Mokuba had thought he was asleep. _Brother…you know…sometimes you feel like being nice? And it scares you because you think someone might be mean to you back? So you say something mean instead, and they’re upset, and you laugh because they did what you wanted them to do? Just so you know…you wanted them to smile, first._

Ridiculous.

But…

If Atem vanishes in a minute, Kaiba can’t deny he doesn’t want the last thing he said to be more insults without anything else in between. 

“You…can just tell me what you want to do,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, looking away. “I don’t have plans tonight. I mean, other plans.”

_You have to remember to catch more flies with honey_ Atem had told him, giving him that condition as a warning more than anything, and…at least Kaiba seems to still be trying. Quite well, actually. 

A ripple of tension escapes from Atem’s shoulders, that intensity that he always feels like he _needs_ to have to keep up with Kaiba dissolving slightly. “This is the most time we’ve spent together…ever,” he points out, tugging Kaiba’s coat more firmly about his shoulders, offering him a soft smile. “If we were in my time and country right now, I’d say we should sneak out to the stables and ride out in the moonlight. What’s the equivalent?”

Kaiba isn’t entirely certain why seeing Atem smile like that feels like a victory, but he’ll take it. And fuck Priest Seth, too, Priest Seth isn’t here and didn’t do that. “I have a car,” he reminds Atem, raising an eyebrow. “Want to take a drive to the country? If it has to be horses, I’m sure I could, I don’t know, find one.” Is there an app for that? Horsefind?

“It doesn’t have to be horses. Your car is good. And I kind of like watching you drive,” Atem idly remarks, his head tilting. “I don’t know why. Mesmerizing.” 

“It’s an automatic, not exactly difficult,” Kaiba says, and opens the door again, holding it for Atem. “Mm. You definitely look like you spend time riding a horse.”

Atem trots out, breathing in the night air as he steps over to the car. “Do I? You’re just used to seeing me possess Yugi’s body. He’s mostly bones.”

“Tiny bones.” But there’s no derision in Kaiba’s voice when he talks about Mutou Yuugi, and as he slides back into the driver’s seat, he says, “He’s doing well, by the way. In case you were worried.”

“I’m always worried.” Atem drops down into the seat, almost snuggling back into the soft leather. “Which is why I didn’t want to bother him unless I absolutely had to. I’m sure it must be nice, having a normal life now.” 

“‘Normal,’ right,” Kaiba says with a snort, and reverses out of the parking lot, taking the nearest runway that heads to the mountains, the road overlooking the sea. “He won the last tournament I held here. And he’s dating a girl.”

“Good! Is it Anzu?” Atem pauses, and clarifies, because he is certain Kaiba doesn’t know her name, “The one that stuck around with us, with the brown hair, blue eyes, wants to be a dancer…”

“I know who the annoying friendship girl is,” Kaiba says with a sigh. “They dated, then she moved to America. He was heartbroken, then found a different girlfriend with a bigger chest, and swears it had nothing to do with that.”

“Ah. That sounds…exactly like him, yeah.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t gossip with him or anything. He talks to Mokuba.”

“I would be shocked if you two gossiped, but…thank you. I was worried about him.” Atem settles back again, eyes lidded as he peers out the window. “If I have to go back to Egypt to solve some world-ending task…mm, it’s definitely your turn to come with and help me, I think.” 

“I don’t know why you thought a bunch of teenagers who can’t read or write Arabic, let alone any of the Coptic languages, would be any help in the first place,” Kaiba says bluntly. “But you’re absolutely right that I would be of more help. That being said…” 

He pulls onto the highway, and immediately starts ignoring the speed limit, his car roaring down the deserted streets. “Better if nothing ends the world right now. I have too many things scheduled for next week.”

“Said as if I wanted to drag them into the middle of it in the first place,” Atem sighs, deliberately thunking his head back against the headrest as he watches Kaiba instead. “Too many things? How much of it involves me?” 

“Before today, very little,” Kaiba says with a snort. “This may surprise you, but a CEO of a major corporation has several projects he must attend to at any point.”

“I think your schedule should involve more me, because I’m here, and you like that.” 

“Then schedule something.”

Kaiba pulls out his phone, opens his calendar program, and tosses it to Atem. “You tell me what we’re doing. I’m just your driver.”

Atem catches the phone with a blink, honestly shocked that tactic actually worked. Then he shrugs, and flips through Kaiba’s calendar curiously. “Wow. You have no fun these days.” 

“You noticed.”

“I noticed. Well, one major project is drawing up the plans for the palace in your hologram world.”

“Calendar program,” Kaiba instructs firmly, “email my sketch artist primary renderings after my meeting with Atem about the palace.”

_“Yes, Mr. Kaiba_ ,” the computer answers smoothly.

“…I _do_ like that,” Atem admits, and then adds slyly, “Also, a lesson in playing Senet, so you can possibly beat my hologram. Apparently.” 

Kaiba’s eyes light up. “That’s right—you probably know the real rules, don’t you?” he demands, so excited he nearly swerves the car. “They’ve been lost for thousands of years, it’s all conjecture at this point, even Ishtar could only tell me so much.”

Atem slides in his seat a bit, but otherwise seems unfazed by Kaiba’s excited driving. “Mmhm. You get a lesson _if_ you continue to meet the conditions I set out before. Oh, also _also_ , we definitely have to duel. Several times. After I rebuild my deck.” 

“You cannot possibly have any protests about how I’ve been behaving,” Kaiba says hotly, his emotions swinging wildly to the other extreme (one extreme being ‘New Game Information,’ the other being ‘Dealing With Feelings’). “At _great_ personal difficulty, I have been very accommodating!”

“That’s why I said _continue_ to meet the conditions, thus implying you are currently meeting them, and I am pleased,” Atem says without glancing up from Kaiba’s phone, casually flipping out of his calendar to see what else is lurking about. “You’ve been on your best behavior and it makes me want to reward you.” 

Be calm, Kaiba Seto. There’s no way Atem could know about how those words send that sort of extreme, specifically sexual thrill through him.

Wait, no! 

Atem and Priest Seth—that must mean that—

Strategy needs to be re-formed, Kaiba thinks frantically, hands white on the steering wheel. He’s been operating under the assumption that they were on equal playing fields regarding their signals and behavior, but if Seth is as much like him as he fears, Atem should be treated as if he has a strategic boost, at least twenty-five—

No, at least 50% up!

Sweat beads on Kaiba’s brow, and he shoots a look to the side. “Is it really my best behavior if I’m only doing it for the reward?”

Atem’s lips curve into a slow smile. “Don’t we all mostly do things for the reward?” he idly asks. “And for you, it’s coming from me in all directions. You’re really getting what you want.” 

“Oh?” Kaiba asks, voice low with heat. “You think it’s safe to tease me when I’m driving, hm?” Attack, attack, attack, if he doesn’t _meet_ and _exceed_ Atem’s flirting, he loses immediately, because his defense is wildly inadequate.

“Safer than riding behind you on a horse and breathing on you, or so I’ve found,” Atem says underneath his breath. “You _could_ pull over, if you can’t multi-task.” 

“Is that how you talk to your charioteers?” Kaiba asks, trying to ignore just how hard he is in his pants, feeling a wet spot start to grow on his underwear. “What are you going to do if I pull over, hmm?”

“No, but it’s how I talk to you.” _Careful, it’s Seto, not Seth,_ Atem has to quickly remind himself, even though the temptation to push just a _bit_ more is so damnably strong. If he pokes too hard, he can always apologize. Kaiba’s pride responds fairly quickly to someone else admitting that they’re wrong, after all. “Like you said—you’ve been very accommodating, if you want a little reward…” 

Try as he might, Kaiba cannot think of a single innocent thing that could mean.

No, no, it’s too soon, he’s not ready—

_You were ready to kill yourself to see him one last time,_ a voice whispers in his mind. _You didn’t know if the Dimension Cube would work, but you were willing to risk being stuck in the Afterlife, because the world without him in it isn’t worth sticking around in. Now he’s here. And you have no idea for how long._

Kaiba’s foot comes down on the brake, the car’s tires decelerating smoothly into a parking outlook. His is the only car, on the side of a mountain, overlooking a wide valley leading to the sea, and the endless night sky above. “Go on, then,” he says, as confidently, as challengingly as he can, forcing himself to meet Atem’s eyes. “Show me what I’ve earned.”

Oh. So he actually…huh. Behold, the difference of being blunt versus _direct_ with Kaiba Seto…apparently. 

For a moment, Atem hesitates. Delicate, careful, delicate. If he isn’t those things, Kaiba _will_ run screaming—or shouting insults, one or the other—and he’ll be back to square one. Atem sets Kaiba’s phone down onto the dashboard, and twists in his seat, blinking up at Kaiba with deliberately wide eyes. “Bend down this way, then,” he requests, crooking a finger.

Kaiba’s hand shoots out, grabbing Atem’s, around that finger. “I’ll bend down,” he says quietly, doing so. “But don’t beckon me like a dog.”

Atem blinks, then smiles slowly, and lurches up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Kaiba’s mouth without a second more of hesitation. “Then next time, do it automatically,” he softly says. “So I don’t have to ask.”

Emotions flood through Kaiba in a way that feels at odds with the quiet, pleasant atmosphere of the night all around them. Fierce elation as if he’s won something precious, clashing up hard against the sudden, sickening realization that Atem is either toying with him, or is playing around on his lover, his past life.

“You should know.” Kaiba’s voice is low, rough, and unsteady. “I won’t lose to him.”

He straightens abruptly in his seat, and pulls back onto the road, unable to will away that gleeful sense of triumph. “Before this curse or blessing or glitch ends and you go back to the Afterlife…I will make you truly mine.”


	3. Chapter 3

The drip of a candle’s wax is the only sound for a long, long time. The candle—and the blood, steadily dripping from a shallow wound in his arm. The silver knife, that had inflicted the wound, is clutched loosely in his other hand, the blood pooling onto the basement floor.

Then, as if drawn by magnets, the blood starts to flow in a different direction. It flows steadily into the glyphs he’d traced, pooling around the carved tokens he’d wrought of Ma’at, of Re, of Osiris, for the ritual that could only be fulfilled on the first full moon of a quarter. His offerings, offal and incense and feathers bound with gold, all form the basis of the circle, the ancient chant still fading from his lips when a dark shape appears in the middle of the circle, coalescing and twisting until it resolves itself into the shape of a man.

Malik sags, relief and excitement coursing through him, and straightens up, ignoring the way his arm keeps freely bleeding. “Yo,” he calls, attempting to sound nothing but cheerful. “What’s up?”

The summoned form twists and heaves up from the floor with a low grunt of effort, the sound of fingernails scraping across the floor only pausing as it adjusts to the world around it. There’s a heaving, wet breath, followed by a cough, as if clearing the phlegm of the Underworld itself from its lungs, and even in the dim light, the shock of long white hair spills out onto the floor, shifting with every heaving breath.

“…Yo,” is the eventual, breathy sigh of a response, and a pair of sharply glittering eyes reflect back at Malik, followed by a low, familiar giggle. “You have _got_ to be shitting me.”

A thrill born partially of guilt shoots through Malik like it hasn’t in years, and he finds himself unable to look away, his mouth stretching in an infectious grin. “Welcome back. It’s temporary, sorry.”

“Why the fuck would you tell me that when I just got here?” Slowly, he pushes himself up to his knees, fighting through the odd, wobbly way he moves. It always _sort of_ feels like that when fixed to a body again, but this one feels…even odder, somehow, as if it’s made of ectoplasm itself, instead of being actually attached to a human. 

…which would explain why it’s _temporary_. Fuck that. 

The Spirit of the Ring, the Thief King, the one _usually_ known as Bakura because no one really seems to know what to call him, heaves a sigh, and looks around more closely. “You don’t trust me,” he observes, taking note of the summoning circle around him, still strongly sealed off. “Bitch.” 

“I’m gonna let you out!” Malik protests, scowling as he turns, grabbing a bandage and winding it around his upper arm. “Look, I’m doing it now, I just wanted to make sure I got the circle right. _Chara_ , you’re so impatient.” He rubs his big toe through the outer circle, though not the inner one, the circle he’d poured his blood into, a last fragile seal against dark gods.

“That’s more like it,” Bakura sighs out, carefully climbing the rest of the way to his feet and dusting off his bare legs. He pauses, eyeing the circle of blood as well, skeptical. “Is that going to zap the shit out of me?” 

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If I fucked up and summoned Zorc.”

Immediately, Bakura sputters out a laugh, nearly wobbling over from the force of it. “Fuck, that’d be a good one,” he wheezes. “Yeah, no, _that_ fucker’s dead. Eternal suffering has been quieter for it, thank fuck.” Still—he eyes that circle with some concern, a niggling voice at the back of his mind making him wonder. _Is there a piece still clinging on? Can I exist without that anymore?_

Well, no time like the present. 

Bakura sticks a foot over the circle, then sets it down on the other side. Nothing happens, and he heaves a sigh of his own before he looks up, meeting Malik’s eyes with a grin. “You really summoned me even with a chance of _that?_ You’re still so shitty at your job.”

“I’m not a Gravekeeper anymore,” Malik protests, hands on his hips, though he can’t help but grin back. “Wouldn’t be much point guarding the Nameless Pharaoh’s way back to his memory now.”

“You’re still shitty at your job,” Bakura airily says, gesturing broadly to his body. “You couldn’t even get me the right body to come back to. I’ll forgive you, only because you managed to summon me at all.” 

“Eh?” Malik frowns, squinting at Bakura. “You look right to me. I even brought your stripey sweater.”

“Yeah. I hate that. You _know_ I didn’t look like a half-dead, scrawny kid when I nearly destroyed Kemet, right?” 

“No,” Malik admits cheerfully. “If you think everyone came back talking about how you looked, you kinda underestimate all the shit that happened. Anyway, want some beer? Rishid is out of town.” _And he’s ninety percent of my self-control_.

Bakura grunts. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Yeah. You know, I really do.” He sweeps forward, unrepentantly, swinging an arm around Malik’s waist to abruptly yank him close. “And while you get me a beer, explain the time restrictions and other limitations of this shit you managed.”

“I’m not going to explain _anything_ while you’re grabbing me,” Malik says, and it sounds less like a protest, more like an eager, catlike purr as he arches against Bakura, greedily clinging to him. “Nn. Gimme what I summoned you here for. Beer and talk later.”

“Slut,” Bakura murmurs, his eyes glittering in the dim basement as he lets Malik latch onto him. “Did you seriously fucking summon me here for dick?”

Malik turns to him, and loops a finger in the neck of Bakura’s sweater, leaning in to nip at his lips. “After being consigned to ultimate darkness for a year, you _have_ to say I’m the hottest thing you’ve seen in a while. Grab my ass already.”

“…Was it really just a year? Huh.” Bakura shrugs, uncaring as he obliges, feeling pretty damn charitable after being summoned from the ultimate darkness in question. His hands drop and grab, squeezing hard, and firmly yanking Malik forward as he catches that full lower lip with his teeth. “You are the hottest thing I have seen in awhile,” he breathes, eyes lidding. “Maybe ever. How’s that, pretty boy?” 

“Good,” Malik decides in a rush of air, and he drags Bakura down to the floor of the basement, grabbing at that mass of white hair, kissing him hard, one hand dragging down his back. “Make fun of me,” he pants, “for summoning you for dick…after you give it to me.”

Bakura laughs as he kicks Malik’s legs apart as if it’s a reflex, kissing him again hard enough to make the coppery tang of blood spill over his tongue. “Shut up,” he casually says, not particularly meaning it right now as he licks a stripe up Malik’s throat, the tang of sweat over that bronze skin making him shiver. “So fucking bossy.” He grabs one of Malik’s hands and shoves it between them, to the bulge of his cock already straining behind the denim Malik remembers too fucking well, _apparently_. “Take it out, if you want it.” 

Malik curses again, and grabs for Bakura’s waistband, licking at the bite on his own lip, tasting the blood and not pausing for a second. He nearly has to fight with himself, trying to pull Bakura’s jeans down and fondle him through them at the same time, his own cock so hard in his cargo pants he sort of deliriously thinks he might faint. “I want it,” he mutters. This is what he’s been missing—the wild, chaotic way Bakura grabs at him, shoves him around, the way Bakura’s hands are _everywhere_ at once, all with that shitty grin on his face.

“I’ll give it to you.” The words are breathless as Malik grabs at him, making Bakura groan and automatically thrust into the touch of his hand, his eyes rolling back into his head. Something that feels _that_ good after what had felt like an eternity of pain alternating with nothingness is enough to make his vision spin. “Shit,” he mutters, shivering hard as he bites at Malik’s neck, and yanks at the fastenings of his cargo pants. “I owe you, for dragging me back to the surface. If you’ve got lube, this is your one chance.” 

Part of Malik wants to hiss that it’s not like Bakura hasn’t fucked him raw and bleeding and screaming before, not like he isn’t currently soaking through a bandage—

But this is kind of the closest Bakura ever gets to being nice, and Malik snatches greedily at it, shoving a small bottle into his hand. “Knew,” he groans, squirming out of his own pants, the basement floor hard and cool against his scars. “Knew I wouldn’t be able to wait for you to fuck me.” _Hoped_ is probably a better word. If he’d known, he would have prepared himself. He’d hoped, and brought lube.

“Good boy,” Bakura purrs, the words a low rumble against Malik’s ear before Bakura’s teeth catch on an earring, and _pull_ as he takes that bottle—and then pulls back, uncaringly uncapping it and spilling it generously over his palm. “I’m gonna make you figure out how to keep me here,” he casually says as he slicks his cock, then grabs handfuls of Malik’s ass to yank him where he wants him, long legs draped around him wherever they fall. “Because _no one_ fucks you like I do. Isn’t that right?” The slick, dripping head of his cock presses against Malik’s hole before Bakura shoves in, mercilessly burying himself with one long, hard thrust. His own, satisfied groan escapes against Malik’s ear, and his tongue snakes out to trace the edge of it. “ _Maliiik._ ” 

“Fuuuuck fuck fuck fuck,” Malik gasps, his back arching high off the floor, one of his feet bracing against the floor, the other leg wrapping around Bakura’s slender hips to try and grab him in closer, his pants dangling pathetically from one ankle. Bakura’s bragging is rarely wrong—he’s good at dueling, he’s fucking terrifying, and he _does_ have the best dick around. It works him open, lighting him up inside, making him whine. “Ahh—fuck, no one does it like you, _fuck me up_ —“

Bakura slams a hand down next to Malik’s head for purchase, shoving in until their skin slaps together and he grunts from the effort. “Told you, I owe you,” he grinds out, breath hot against Malik’s neck as he grinds his hips forward deep and slow, then only pulls back maybe an inch, just to thrust in again, the way he hikes Malik’s hips up by a hard, insistent guiding hand on his ass making sure his cock hits where it should, even with all of Malik’s wriggling. “So you get the _full_ treatment, pretty boy. Ahhh, fuck, you’re so _tight_ still…” His voice is a throaty rumble, his teeth sharp wherever they set down. “No one’s been screwing you right, I can tell…” 

Gods, if _that_ isn’t the truth. 

Some of the sex he’s had in the last year had made him question whether he’d just been high on emotions and crime and adventure and Bakura’s thick cock, whether he was even someone who _liked_ sex. The fact that Bakura can still make him feel like a pile of goo with half a dozen thrusts, like he’s on the verge of coming without any of the things he usually needs, just because he’s getting what he really, truly _needs.._. “No one does it like you,” he manages, and gives up, letting his eyes roll back, letting Bakura fuck him delirious.

“ _Good_ boy,” is the breathy praise to follow again, and Bakura _enthusiastically_ sets himself to the task. Each thrust is deliberate, deep, rough in the _exact_ way that makes Malik yelp and squirm, and when he’s certain he has Malik pinned and wriggling and helplessly on that edge, Bakura snakes a hand up underneath Malik’s shirt to pinch his nipples.

Except—“Hooo, _very_ nice,” he excitedly breathes, his cock twitching hard inside of Malik as his fingers delicately hook over not just flesh, but _jewelry._ “I’m gonna make you regret these.” Bakura casually flicks one, then pinches hard, just as he rolls his hips in with a rough grind. 

The cry that comes from Malik’s lips is almost a sob, almost a scream, and he comes in a torrent, his body quaking around Bakura, squeezing down helplessly around his cock, milking him with every spasm as pleasure shoots through his nipples, drawing out his orgasm in hitching, shuddering waves. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t gotten them pierced thinking about Bakura doing this, tormenting him, the idea that Bakura would slide his hands up, unable to leave them alone until Malik was a pleading, embarrassing mess. “Come in me,” he chokes out, eyes squeezed shut as he grips Bakura’s hair, fingernails raking his scalp. He tries to say something else, but it comes out a garbled jumble of languages, stupid nonsense as Bakura drags pleasure out of him.

The clench of Malik around his cock makes Bakura gasp raggedly into Malik’s hair, and his fingers pinch cruelly before he sinks his nails into Malik’s chest instead, deliberately stopping himself from doing _real_ damage. He grits his teeth, fucking in hard and deep, intent only on getting off now that Malik has begged exactly for that so _nicely_.

His cock pulses hard, and he spills with a groan, switching his grip on Malik’s body to snatch him up by his narrow hips, holding him in place as he rolls his hips through his orgasm, milking out every drop. “Ahhh…fuuuck,” Bakura exhales, his eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing Malik hard before he slumps down with a hard shiver. “There.”

The pain shooting through him is what does it. Malik doesn’t try to fight it when that flare of pain in his chest, followed by the rough, brutal claiming, makes him come again, just as Bakura fills him deep inside. He bites his bottom lip, eyes rolling back, tasting blood as he finally goes boneless, absolutely sated, exhausted, and delighted. “You’re so mean,” he says dreamily. “You didn’t even let me show them off first, now they’re gonna be all swollen…”

Bakura grunts at that, sated and entirely unconcerned. “So figure out a way to keep me here longer. Show ‘em off after that.” He shifts, casually sliding a hand down Malik’s stomach through the mess there, leaving his fingers sticky-slick. “Wow. Slut.” 

Malik’s body gives an appreciative wiggle at that, and he licks his lips. “There’s no way I’m going to keep them away from you long enough for that,” he says with a sigh. “You can just appreciate them while they’re all red and puffy.”

“Told you, you’ll regret it,” Bakura warns, lifting his hand to give his fingers a contemplative lick, then shrugs, and stuffs his fingers into Malik’s mouth for a more thorough cleaning instead. “Seriously, I don’t get it. You’re fucking easy, why can no one fuck you right?” 

Malik sucks greedily, eyes lidded as he looks up at Bakura, his tired cock giving a twitch that speaks volumes about the fact that he is seventeen and there’s a man treating him right. As soon as those fingers fall from his lips, he demands, “I know, right? You did it so easy, I thought it would be easy to find someone to give it to me the way I like it.”

“Guess I spoiled you,” Bakura sighs, giving Malik’s cheek a pat that could be taken as affectionate, from just about anyone else. He pulls back then, freeing his cock with a hiss, still overstimulated and shivering. “So about that beer.” 

“Nnnn,” Malik whines, turning to curl onto his side for a moment, until his thighs stop trembling. “Y-yeah, I’ve got plenty upstairs, gimme a sec…”

Bakura tucks himself back into his jeans, even though watching Malik _does_ make his cock twitch anew. “Keep whining, I dare you.” He forces his eyes to slide away, better taking in his surroundings now that he’s not so _thoroughly_ distracted. “I know we’re underground, but…this isn’t exactly a tomb. Your family really _did_ quit, huh.” 

“It’s a basement,” Malik agrees, hauling himself up, finding an odd, rebellious spark of pleasure in the act of whining about pain. With a mental curse to his long-dead father— _I win, I get to complain, hope the Afterlife is very terrible_ —he tugs his pants back on, stretching as he stands. “This is my house, it rocks.”

“Show it to me, I’m curious.” Bakura’s head cocks in amusement. “Unless you lied, and Rishid is lurking upstairs ready to murder me.” 

“Like he’d let me summon you,” Malik scoffs, and leads the way upstairs, bare feet padding on the steps. “He’s helping Ishizu move into her new suite in Cairo, won’t be back until Thursday.” 

He opens the door to the kitchen, gesturing proudly. “Kitchen! Fridge full of beer. Bathroom there, big-ass bedroom with a big-ass bed, Rishid’s room, study, garage for my bikes. Oh, and there’s a balcony!” He beams, clearly very pleased with himself and his extremely normal home. “Is this not the coolest fucking house you’ve ever seen?”

“…Tch. Spoiled rotten slut,” Bakura disinterestedly says, beelining for the beer when it’s apparent there’s little to be stolen in plain view. He pops open the cap, and takes a long drink. “I’m sorry, did you say _bikes?_ Plural?” 

“I use them for work now,” Malik gloats, pulling a beer out for himself, using the bottle-opener on the side of the fridge and taking a long drag. “I have a real job and everything.”

Bakura’s eyebrows slowly raise. “Which…is? Fuck, who would hire you in the real world? _Look_ at you.” 

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You look like a slut.” 

“Wow! Coming from someone who looks like the ghost of a twink—“

“And whose fault is that~?” Bakura sing-songs, taking another long swig from his beer before he leans forward, pinching Malik’s nipple through his shirt.

“Ow, _fucker_ ,” Malik complains, kicking at Bakura’s shin as his cock twitches. “Mm, wanna see them?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulls up his crop top, exposing the little rings threading through each dusky nipple, both of them a bit red from Bakura’s earlier attention.

Bakura grumbles when he’s kicked, but his complaint is swiftly mollified. “Nice,” he remarks, taking another drink, this one slower. “That’s a look. Guess you liked my old suggestions, huh. For real, what the fuck kind of work are you doing now?” 

“Mm, Ishizu got me a hookup.” Malik grins, taking another swig as he tugs his shirt back down. “Better watch out. I’m working security for deserted tombs they can’t spare real guards for. I ride around on my bike with a gun and chase off poachers and graverobbers.”

“Awww, really? That’s so cute, you would’ve been fun,” Bakura sighs, leaning back against the countertop. “I would’ve really enjoyed knocking your ass on the ground.” 

Malik snorts. “Don’t get a lot of conceited thief-king types. Mostly it’s dumbass foreigners who get drunk and want souvenirs. All the good shit is in museums by now, anyway. Most of it in colonizer countries, too.”

“Everyone is garbage,” Bakura says dismissively. “Especially rich people.” He finishes off his beer with a sigh, briefly shutting his eyes. “Sorry, still trying to reconcile that you literally dragged me out of eternal suffering for a _booty call._ ” 

“Don’t complain, my ass is definitely better than eternal torment,” Malik protests. “I dunno, I was just…thinking about you.”

Because that kid he’d spotted shoplifting at the Carrefour hypermarket had winked at him, and he’d pocketed a little elephant figure himself, just for the nostalgia. Because he’d struck out three times at Hammam al Nahhasin before letting some guy at Nile OPIO take him into the back, not trusting to let anyone touch his naked back even now. Because that freak Kaiba had dragged his machines through the wreckage of the Pharaoh’s tablet, taking back the pieces of the Millennium puzzle to Japan as if he had any right to it. 

Because sometimes when he’s on his bike chasing drunk tourists, he can hear Bakura whisper in his ear, _“You sure you don’t want to fire that thing into his head as a warning shot? Let’s see how fast his friend can run.”_

Because there’s no magic left in the world except for his memories.

Malik finishes his beer, chucking it into the glass bin. Damn. What do they do now? It had mostly been evil plotting, sex, more evil plotting, more sex, some light mind control, sex, some heavy mind control, and some weird sex in the same body. “You wanna…watch a movie?”

Bakura stares at him, heavy-lidded and disbelieving. Then, he weighs the pros and cons. Keep the kid happy and indulge how fucking weird and messed up—yet shockingly tolerable—he is, or go back in the death hole. Get to fuck him and play with his nipples, or go back into a never-ending spiral of despair and hatred, even after he’s long dead. 

Hmm.

“You know…” Bakura reaches into the fridge for another beer. “Kinda, yeah.”

“Figure we should make the most of it before the spell wears off or we get caught,” Malik says brightly, leaning over Bakura to grab another beer for himself as well. “There’s definitely going to be some kind of side effect from this spell, whoops! That sounds like a problem for Later-Malik, though.”

“No, no, you’re going to explain that,” Bakura idly says, catching Malik with a hand on the back of his neck. “Time limits and effects. Specifically, the shit that affects me.”

Malik leans into that hand, not even pretending he’s not a bit touch-hungry, winding his hands around Bakura’s neck, beer and all. “You suuuure you don’t feel like making it Later-Bakura’s problem?” he asks hopefully. “I bet he deserves it.”

“Later-Bakura sounds like he’s not gonna be here, from how you keep phrasing it,” Bakura dryly says, leaning over to open his beer bottle without dislodging Malik. “You used your slut card for the hour already. Talk, brat.” 

Malik sighs. “I should get more than one slut card,” he mutters darkly, but acquiesces. “Three sunrises, and some sort of…mm, the text was kinda vague? Either some balancing force had to come out with you, or something had to go in. Whatever, it’ll go back to normal in three sunrises, so even if someone was sucked into the darkness, no big deal, right? They’ll be back.”

“Three days,” Bakura echoes, slinging his arm around Malik’s waist unthinkingly as he leans back into the countertop again. “Huh. I wonder what balances me out these days. I have no idea what I’m even supposed to be anymore.” 

Malik sort of seals himself up against Bakura’s chest, bending a bit to accommodate for the difference in their heights. “Well, the worse you are, the better something else has got to be, so…that’s not too bad, right? I mean, let’s not tell my family about this, but it’s not _too_ bad, right? And it’s not like I can only do the spell once.”

“Oh yeah, you know me, always chatting with your family,” Bakura drawls, his fingers curling against Malik’s hip as he only turns his head aside to take a swig from his beer. “It would be better if you could figure out how to _extend it_. Going back and forth sounds like bullshit.” 

“It’s only supposed to work for the first three days of every quarter,” Malik says doubtfully. “Don’t be so greedy, this is a booty call, you’re not moving in.”

“Shut up, don’t be a bitch,” Bakura crossly says, pinching Malik’s ass. “You wouldn’t want to go back into unending darkness either.” 

Malik shrugs. He’d been close enough, once upon a time. But that comes too close to the dark places in him for comfort, so he changes the subject, tugging Bakura into the living room, tumbling onto the couch. “I’m not a priest, not really. And I don’t have any super powerful items. Get a spookier hookup or take what I’m offering.”

Bakura rolls his eyes as he sets his beer down onto the nearest table, then collapses onto the couch in turn, crawling up and over Malik. “Or,” he archly suggests, leaning down to nip Malik’s lower lip. “You could get fancier. Go steal something more powerful.” 

“Like what?” Malik arches up against Bakura, enjoying the play of their bodies against each other, threading his hand up through Bakura’s hair. “My area of study in the occult is preeeeeetty specific, you know?”

“…Let me think about it,” Bakura mutters, tilting his head to suck on the side of Malik’s neck, then back up to his ear again, absently catching his earring between his teeth before flicking it away with his tongue. He shifts between Malik’s legs, content to bask in how it feels to touch someone delightfully warm and real, especially when he’s hard. “You need a spiritual grounding of some kind.” 

“Is that a euphemism for spanking?” Malik asks, shifting slowly against Bakura, content for now to simply rub his cock against Bakura’s, through both of their pants.

“I’m _talking_ about the ritual, you whore,” Bakura snorts, reaching up to give Malik’s cheek a light slap. “Multi-task, or I’ll spend time stealing shit and not fucking you the whole time.” 

Malik scowls, flopping back. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, you’ve always taken a mile if someone gives you an inch. Ugh, you’re lucky it was the beginning of Flood and I was horny and alone.”

“What, like that would’ve stopped you from hiding me in your basement?” Bakura laughs, bracing his hands next to Malik’s head, his hair falling down around Malik’s face. “You’re the one that summoned me back here. If you didn’t want me to try and stay, then you should’ve picked someone else to have a good time with.” 

_I’ve tried_ , Malik sort of wants to protest, but he doesn’t feel like sounding lonely and sad in front of Bakura right now, not when Bakura is being a dick. “You should be nicer to me,” he says instead, tweaking one of Bakura’s nipples. “I bought meat for you.”

Bakura growls, slapping half-heartedly at Malik’s hand. “You were real confident that you’d get me here, then, huh.” He leans back down, and instead of biting Malik’s neck again, he presses an open-mouthed kiss over a mark he’d left behind. “I’ll be nice,” he murmurs. “But you need to stop acting like a dumbass. I don’t fuck idiots. You’ll figure something out, won’t you?” 

Malik’s face tenses in annoyance, a flash of anger in his eyes. “You really think I didn’t look for that kind of thing first? Fuck, you think this was the _first_ ritual I tried?” He shoves down the bandage on his arm, revealing a dozen long slashes in various stages of healing and scarring. “Rishid almost had me committed, it’s not like I could tell him what I was really doing!”

“For fuck’s sake, you sound like a harpy when you get pissy,” Bakura growls, sitting back and raking a hand through his hair, clenching his jaw for a moment to refocus and not completely lose his temper. “You’re absolutely nuts,” he finally says, scowling down at Malik. “How bad _is_ the dick in this country these days?” 

Malik shoves at Bakura’s shoulder, his jaw set. “When you’re a nocturnal, scarred, occult-practicing former crime boss who lives with his brother, trying to hook up in a Muslim country? Kinda hard to find, frankly!”

Bakura exasperatedly holds up his hands, placating. “All right, all right, shit, fair enough. Chill out, I’m done being a bastard, are you done shrieking?” 

“No! I’m sick of men with beards and foreskins!”

Bakura rolls his eyes, and leans away to grab his beer again. “Yeah, well. Welcome to hell. Sorry that I’ve spoiled you and now all you want is pretty boys.” 

“Tell me what you’re supposed to look like,” Malik growls. “Maybe I’ll be feeling generous next time.”

Bakura’s mouth purses as he looks at Malik, considering, calculating. “…Take your shirt off and I’ll tell you that you’re pretty until you chill out,” he says, taking a slow drink of his beer. “ _Then_ I’ll tell you what I’m supposed to look like. How about that?” 

Malik huffs, and strips off his shirt, propping himself up on his elbows. “I have other jewelry for them,” he says, looking down at the gold rings through his nipples. “Little barbells.”

“Cute,” Bakura says, settling back onto his knees after setting his beer aside again. “Glad to know I was right, like I always am. They suit you.” He reaches out, dragging long, pale fingers down Malik’s chest, running the tip of one around a nipple, but not over. “Makes me want to snag you something pretty to put in them. Later, maybe, as a gift for working so hard.” _Because you will, because you can’t help it._

Malik shivers, the near-touch more fascinating, more arousing than a stranger’s mouth on his cock could ever be. “Bakura…I’ll find something.” His eyelids flutter, and he bites his lip, looking away. “Or at least, I won’t stop looking until I do. Not for any gross reason, just…you don’t belong down there any more than I do. So I’ll keep trying.”

“…Good boy.” Ew, that’s a weird, kind of affectionate thing his voice did. Well, it’s inevitable to feel _something_ fond about the shitty brat that teamed up with him not once, but twice, and now again, to drag him out of an neverending death spiral. Bakura snorts to himself, and runs his thumb absently over the nipple he didn’t _quite_ abuse as much earlier. “It’s…appreciated. Fucking sucks, not even worth putting it into words.” His eyes lid. “You wanna hear about what I looked like? I was hot.” 

“Can you draw?” Malik asks curiously. “I feel like I might get it wrong if I can’t picture it.”

“This is when it would be helpful for you to crawl into my mind again,” Bakura deadpans, collapsing back into the opposite arm of the couch with a heaving sigh. He grabs one of Malik’s feet, dragging it into his lap. “What, you can’t imagine me tall? I had a fucking excellent chest, too.” 

Having his feet rubbed does more to alleviate Malik’s temper than anything else, and he gurgles a bit, flopping back. “How tall? Like, tall for the time, or tall now?”

“Tall now. Taller than you, by a few centimeters.” Bakura’s fingers dig in as he contemplates, knowing full-well how to calm Malik down and make him more pliable. “I was darker than you. Still had white hair though. Spooky death villages’ll do that, I guess.” 

“Tell me more about this…excellent chest,” Malik says contemplatively, closing his eyes in relaxation, trying to picture Bakura taller, darker, broader.

“Heh. Sure. I mean, grave robbers have to be strong to be good at that shit.” Bakura’s eyes lid, his thumb running down and pressing along the arch of Malik’s foot. “Compared to this body…well, this body’s a joke, even if it’s pretty. Think about twice as broad. I wasn’t fucking huge or anything, but like fuck I wanted to be as gross as any of those pet priests.” His mouth twitches. “I rode a lot of horses, so you could bounce rocks off my legs.” 

“Tell me about your dick,” Malik says shamelessly, predictably. 

“Why would you _ever_ wanna know about that?” Bakura sarcastically shoots back, a snort of amusement following as he drags a finger up the back of each of Malik’s toes. “Big. Obviously. I wonder if your pretty little hand could even wrap around it.” 

“You’re making that up,” Malik mutters, as he starts to harden in his pants. “Because I have no way to prove you wrong. You plough through your fair share of spooky little thief boys?”

“Why would I make it up? You know I know how to use it,” Bakura says, entirely unfazed because he _knows_ he’s telling the truth. His hands slide up Malik’s ankle and calf, pushing up his pants to run over the smooth, soft skin. “Yeah, I fucked my way around however I wanted. Listen, I was fucking _awesome_ , everyone wanted in my bed. Most brats aren’t good at taking dick, though, so it got boring fast.”

Malik shifts, hooking one of his legs over the back of the couch, the other splaying down to the ground, spread shamelessly wide. “I’m good at it. I’d have been good at it back then, too. Mm, what would you have thought of me, back then?”

“I would have wanted to fuck you stupid.” 

Malik grins, and reaches for Bakura, filling his shirt with that sweater, dragging him closer. “Even if I was a slave? My family was, back then.”

“Do you think I give a shit about where you came from?” Bakura breathes, leaning down into that pull, crawling over Malik. His hands brace on either side of Malik’s head, his breath hot against Malik’s lips before he steals them in a kiss again. “I would’ve stolen you, and fucked you, and then you would’ve been my pet.” 

The image goes through Malik like an electrical current, and he arches his back, arms coming up to tug Bakura’s shirt up, revealing that slender, familiar form. “If I’d been your pet, you would never have been caught,” he breathes, leaning up enough that his nipples press against Bakura’s chest. “We’d have been unstoppable.”

Those words make Bakura shiver hard, the odd thrill of excitement at the thought making his toes curl. “Now _that_ would’ve been fun,” he murmurs, tossing his shirt completely to the floor as he presses his weight down into Malik. “My own pretty, fancy occult priest fucktoy. Yeah, I _do_ like that.” His hips twitch forward, rubbing the hard line of his cock against Malik’s hip. “I would’ve kept you decorated. Sounds like a fun project even today.” 

“I’m plenty decorated,” Malik murmurs with a laugh, his hands stealing down to cup and squeeze Bakura’s skinny ass. “I suppose there’s a bit of skin left…mm, how are you going to decorate me?”

“Brat, you’d be running around with the _Thief King_ ,” Bakura laughs, his teeth snapping next to the edge of Malik’s ear, his eager breath quickening as his fingers quickly undo the fastenings of Malik’s pants. “The shit you have now wouldn’t compare. However much fucking cursed jewelry you’d want, you’d _have_.” 

“ _How_ have you not had enough of cursed jewelry?” Malik grins, and shoves his pants down, then starts pawing at Bakura’s jeans, unbuttoning and zipping them quickly. “Would I have sat at your feet all day? Ornamental? Or would we have stolen cursed shit _together_ , hm?”

“Eh, after a certain point, cursed jewelry is kinda fun,” Bakura says, smirking as he kicks his jeans off completely and grabs for Malik’s face, sinking his fingers back into his hair as he drags him up into a wet, sticky kiss, the tip of his tongue flicking against the roof of his mouth. “Depends on how well-behaved you were,” he breathes, his eyes dark. “If you gave me any trouble, you’d be on a leash. But if you were good…” 

“I can be good,” Malik breathes against his mouth, delighting in skin against skin at last, with nothing between them but his jewelry. “I can be _very_ good. I’d suck your big cock in your tent every night, and I’d look pretty doing it.”

Bakura’s cock twitches hard at those words, and a low, rumbling groan escapes between their lips, his hands dragging down Malik’s chest, thumbs running over his nipples. “Damn right you would,” he exhales, cock dripping against the soft skin of Malik’s thigh. “I’m gonna need to put my cock in your mouth now that you said that.” 

_Success._ Malik wriggles downwards, urging Bakura up to straddle his face, licking eagerly at the head, taking the shaft in his hand. “I was hoping you’d like that,” he murmurs, and guides the head into his mouth, sealing his lips around it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bakura groans, planting a hand against the back of the couch as he settles onto his knees, his cock immediately even harder against Malik’s tongue. “You look too good sucking cock.” His other hand threads through Malik’s hair, petting—for now. 

Everything Bakura does—from praise to pettings to the way he shifts—feels like a threat on some level. Whether that’s because it is, or because Malik is imagining it, the idea makes him ache with arousal, his cock hard and heavy against his stomach as he strains up, sucking hard at Bakura’s cock, dragging his tongue up the underside, flicking it over the slit at the tip. 

Bakura breathes out slowly through his teeth, his eyes lidded and dark as he lets Malik work, watching the way his lips wrap around his cock while it throbs with each flick of his tongue. Another drop of precome wells to the tip, quickly licked away with a lap of Malik’s tongue, and the last bit of his self-control disappears with it. “You can take more than that,” he mutters, his hips deliberately canting down, more of his cock quickly disappearing into Malik’s mouth, down his throat.

_But then I can’t taste it_ , Malik wants to protest, but there’s a fierce spark of pride, too, knowing that he’s servicing Bakura so well that he can’t _stand_ not being buried down Malik’s throat. He lets Bakura drag him down, then deliberately swallows more, looking up through his lashes, his pupils dilated with arousal, mouth stretched wide. 

“…Fuck,” Bakura exhales, his fingers tightening in Malik’s hair reflexively as he rocks his hips, savoring the slick heat of Malik’s mouth, the way that tongue wraps around him, the way those pretty lips stretch around him—

“I’ve made you choke on _this_ cock before,” he murmurs, nails dragging against Malik’s scalp as he holds him in place to slowly fuck his mouth. “I think it’s adorable you think you could take even more.” 

Malik pulls back, just far enough that he can suck in a heaving breath through his nose before diving back down, letting Bakura move his head around, yanking him by his hair. When he closes his eyes, he can almost, almost see it—Bakura with dark skin, powerful musculature, choking him with every thrust, calling him a pretty pet and clipping a leash to his golden collar, decorating him with jewelry and piercings and tattoos and scars of _his_ choosing, not remnants of a childhood of pain. 

The way Malik eagerly swallows him down makes Bakura’s breath hitch each time, his fingers more cruel in Malik’s hair with each thrust of his cock down his throat. He gives up on spewing the pretty things that Malik wants to hear, too intent on taking what he wants, on having Malik _exactly_ how he wants him, especially with the thought of how much _fun_ it would have been to have such a pretty pet sucking him off whenever he was the slightest bit bored, making him choke and cry and beg for more later—

Bakura’s fingers clench in Malik’s hair, his cock pulsing hard against his tongue as he pulls back at the last second, coming hard over his tongue and lips, his own chest heaving as the orgasm makes him shudder from head to toe. “…You,” he breathes out, his face flushed, eyes unfocused, “are fucking perfect sometimes. Lick it clean.”

Why does it feel so good, to be praised from someone so cruel?

Malik doesn’t know, doesn’t really care what that says about him, not when a look from those predatory eyes makes his cock hurt with how hard it is. He pulls back, gulping for breath, red-faced, eyeliner streaked with tears as he bends to do as he’s told, licking from root to tip, laving every bit of the skin with affectionate laps of his tongue, swallowing every bit of the bitter, salty, sticky mess, no matter how it makes his stomach churn every time he does.

“Good boy.” Bakura’s fingers loosen in Malik’s hair, dragging the tips of his fingertips along Malik’s scalp instead to pet him while he works, shivering with every lap of that perfect, hot tongue. His cock twitches, still a bit overeager after being given an actual _form_ again, and Bakura sucks in a steadying breath. “Do you want it in you again?” he lowly asks, dragging his fingers down over Malik’s cheek, idly tracing the line of a black-tinted tear streak. “Or do you just want me to play with your nipples until you come? I’m feeling indulgent.” 

Malik gulps, his mind casting around for an answer that makes the most of their time together, and blurts out, “Finger me and suck on my nipples, it…nnh, it’ll be over too fast for me to really enjoy a fuck before I come, but I feel so _empty_ —“

“Yeah, yeah, I know how you are, I got it.” Bakura shoves him back down and slides back between Malik’s thighs, a brief suck on a pair of his own two fingers leaving them slick enough to compensate for anything _extra_ needed, after their earlier roll-around. He slides them in with little resistance, all but purring when he feels Malik’s body clench around them, still hot and slick. “You can keep my cock warm again later,” he murmurs before he drops his head, lips sealing around one nipple as his fingers close around another, sucking and toying with them. 

Malik had _not_ been kidding when he’d said it wouldn’t be long. His hand drops to his cock immediately, pulling on his cock just the way he likes it, focusing the wild pinging of sexual stimuli coursing through him at Bakura’s touch, Bakura’s words, Bakura’s semen still lingering on his tongue. 

Bakura knows all of his weak points. At one time, that would have been terrifying. Now, it just makes his cock hard, and he groans, head rolling back as he gives into the sensations, his body undulating in waves of pleasure as Bakura’s fingers spread him open, making him feel somehow more vulnerable than he ever does when Bakura stuffs him full of cock. He squeezes the base of his cock, trying to make it last, but that’s a fool’s errand when Bakura’s talented, cruel mouth is on his chest, making devastatingly quick work of his self-control.

Malik curses in a string of guttural syllables, biting his lip until it bleeds when he comes over his own fist, clenching down tight around Bakura’s fingers, milking himself dry with every eager thrust down of his hips. “Oh…fuck, fuck….”

Bakura exhales a breathless chuckle against Malik’s chest, only releasing the nipple he’d been tormented between his teeth when he feels Malik start to relax again. He flicks it one last time with his tongue, idly hooking the tip of his tongue through the ring there on purpose, then lifts his head, fingers slowly sliding their way out of Malik’s body. “You would’ve made a _great_ pet,” he wistfully says, collapsing atop Malik. 

“I come pre-decorated,” Malik manages, his tongue feeling as dizzy and fuzzy as the rest of him, and he hears himself let out a stupid little giggle. “Mmm….but you’re in my house…drinking my beer…I think that means you’re _my_ pet, now.”

Bakura blinks slowly, processing that, then sputters out a laugh. “Sure,” he says, highly amused in spite of himself. “Whatever you fucking want. You summoned me here and sucked my cock like a sacred whore, I’ll be your pet for three days.” 

“Ehhh, you’ve been with sacred whores?” Malik asks, turning to snuggle into Bakura’s skinny chest. 

“Nah, but I took a wild guess and I’m pretty sure that’s what it would be like,” Bakura admits with a snort, readjusting to sling an arm around Malik’s waist, yanking him firmly against him, entirely unconcerned with being sticky and sweaty. 

“I’d definitely be good at it,” Malik agrees happily, and fumbles for the remote, flicking the TV on to what he’d last been watching, an American DVD that appears to mostly be about fast cars and men driving them poorly. “This series is dope, you’ll like it.”

“If it doesn’t require any thought, yeah, fucking probably.” Bakura muffles a yawn into Malik’s hair. “If I doze off, do _not_ wake me up for dick unless you’re already sucking it. I will kill you.” 

“So…I can wake you up with my mouth?” Malik asks hopefully, undeterred by the threats.

“That is the _only_ acceptable method.”

“Got it.” Rules are meant to be broken, but Malik _does_ love sucking cock, so he can probably manage to follow this one, for now.


	4. Chapter 4

The one thing that gets Kaiba so annoyed with Atem he can’t stand it, it turns out, has nothing to do with Duel Monsters.

It doesn’t even have anything to do with those infuriating, pompous, proud looks Atem shoots him, the ones that make Kaiba unsure whether he’s being toyed with or goaded or rewarded at any given point.

Atem just won’t stop fucking _moving_.

Kaiba lays still, teeth gritted together, feeling another few seconds of sleeplessness tick by, his clock reading 2:17, as Atem shifts and rolls and squirms. At one point, he finally goes still, and Kaiba’s eyes start to droop, until Atem lets out a little grunt, and kicks.

Exhausted from two nights of sleeplessness, Kaiba rolls over to shake Atem awake again, only to find that Atem had moved while Kaiba was moving, and he winds up sort of—

—on top?—

—of him. He hardly dares to breathe, his pulse pounding, the scent of gold and the desert in his nose, Atem’s back pressed against his chest, every nerve he has on edge.

But the seconds tick by.

2:18

2:36

3:10

Until Kaiba has to admit that he isn’t quite as on-edge as he’d thought, and Atem…doesn’t seem to still be moving quite so much.

For the first time in his adult life, Kaiba sinks into sleep, a true sleep, without being troubled by anything resembling a dream, as the hours tick by past his usual waking hour, and an hour after that, and an hour more, all with an ancient Pharaoh tucked into his arms.

Atem doesn’t move again until the sun’s rays filter in through the windows and land upon his face, bringing him to shift with a grumpy, displeased noise in the back of his throat. 

He does find, however, that he’s less than capable of moving, which has everything to do with a pair of strong arms wound firmly around him.

Huh. Sure, that’s not extremely familiar or anything. 

Atem breathes out slowly, and twists carefully instead, winding himself around within Kaiba’s grasp to face his chest instead. He ponders that for a moment, nose pressed between Kaiba’s pecs, then decides to burrow there more firmly, his eyes sliding shut again now that he doesn’t have the sun beaming into them.

The movement wakes Kaiba immediately, and he freezes, hyper-aware that there’s a man in his arms.

Not just a man, but _Atem_.

_Just a second longer_ , he tells himself, trying to keep his breathing regular, even though Atem can surely hear his heart pounding in his chest, as close as they are. His arms curl around Atem’s back, encircling him, and he breathes into the moment, his eyes closed. 

He probably doesn’t deserve this. He can think of a thousand reasons he shouldn’t be embracing this man—why there shouldn’t be _anyone_ in his bed—but—

If he wants something, and gets it, why shouldn’t he hang onto it, just for a moment?

Fuck dead priests and destiny and rules and society. Kaiba Seto is a man who can get what he wants, and never lets anything stand in his way.

Atem sighs out a long, pleased breath, and one of his arms slinks its way around Kaiba’s waist, his fingers curling against his back. He can hear the thud of Kaiba’s heart against his ear, and if he says anything at all, Kaiba is likely to bolt, and the moment lost with him. 

Forgoing risks never got anyone anywhere, though. “…Good morning,” Atem sleepily offers, his eyes flicking up from where he’s buried into Kaiba’s chest. _You must’ve slept if you’re still here, or I have a feeling I’d be kicked out or possibly murdered._

Kaiba’s eyes slit open, and he flicks them down, his breath catching when they meet Atem’s. The desire to bolt is strong—this is really the worst sort of _letting someone in_ , something he’s strived for many years to avoid. People are a liability. The sheer amount of times Mokuba has been abducted, injured, tortured, brainwashed, all to get to him, say that loud and clear.

And yet…there’s that ache in his chest that only seems to go away when Atem is here. That spark of _life_ that only seems to kindle when he’s around.

What would that spark look like, blown properly into a conflagration? “I stole you, in your sleep,” he says, not really meaning to speak at all.

Atem blinks slowly, his head tilting slightly where he remains curled up, rather birdlike. “Can you steal what’s freely given?” he asks, and he shifts again, pressing his face back into Kaiba’s chest with a content noise, his fingers flexing into Kaiba’s back. “Mm. Warm.” 

“You’re the one who’s warm,” Kaiba mutters. It’s incredible to believe—but is it possible? Has he actually gotten away with simply…pretending this is normal? That this is something that they do? 

Belatedly, he realizes the sun is up, and groans. “I’m late, shit.”

“Reschedule,” is the muffled response as Atem contently remains plastered to Kaiba. 

“…Calendar,” Kaiba says after a moment. “Who’s my first meeting with this morning?”

“First meeting this morning with Pegasus J. Crawford,” the calendar responds smoothly.

“Oh, fuck no,” Kaiba mutters. “Cancel on him. Dictate—Pegasus, I’ve decided to cancel our meeting because you aren’t worth my time. Send.”

“Rudeness detected. Scan through politeness filters?”

“No. Send as is.”

“Message sent. Would you care to be notified of incoming replies to this message?”

“Absolutely not. Silence all notifications until after noon.” There’s a heady rush that comes with being so reckless, even if it’s simply to lay down, and Kaiba stuffs his face into Atem’s hair, claiming his prize. “I deserve,” he says, voice low, “another reward for this.”

“…All right. That I liked,” Atem mutters, thrilled over his success and highly amused all at once. He wriggles, tilting his head back enough to look up at Kaiba through the currently wilder-than-usual mess of his bangs. “Have you learned how to lean down? Or should I come up there?” 

Kaiba reminds himself that breathing is good, that blue eyes are perfectly fine but a blue face is somewhat less than desirable. 

And because he can’t let Atem have the upper hand permanently, because he _can’t_ let himself be quite that vulnerable, not yet, not with anyone, he rolls onto his back. “Come up here,” he says, though his voice comes out far softer than he’d intended, and the insult he’d meant to add dies on his tongue.

Atem considers, even as his pulse flutters. How to make Kaiba be like _this_ all the time (very much like Seth, but he can’t say that, even if it sends an odd pang through his chest because it _is_ true) and not scare him off? He licks his lips as he contemplates, then slowly moves, stretching as he does to work out the stiffness of sleep. If this were Seth, he’d already throw himself onto and over him, but this is _Seto_ , and that requires…more finesse. 

Which is fine, and actually, _surprisingly_ fun, now that he has an opening. 

He slides up Kaiba’s side and drapes himself over his chest, an arm tossed forward to better set his fingers into Kaiba’s hair. That touch, at least, is bolder, because surely, Kaiba can’t flinch away from having Atem’s fingers tangled up through his hair. “Have you _ever_ canceled a meeting to lounge around in bed before?” he quietly asks, eyes lidded as he props his chin upon his other arm, peering at Kaiba through his lashes as he runs his fingertips against Kaiba’s scalp.

“N-no.” The idea makes anxiety thread through him, and he quashes it ruthlessly— _I’m not going to get in trouble, I’m the CEO, what good is power if I never use it for anything I really want_ —and then confesses without meaning to, “I’ve never had anyone play with my hair like that, either.”

“Eh? Well, now you have.” Atem doesn’t pause, slowly petting and stroking, twisting a few longer strands around his fingers. “If you hate it, I’ll stop. It just looked like you needed it.” 

“I…don’t hate it.” For just a second, something like a smile tugs at Kaiba’s lips, before it vanishes again. “You’ve given me quite the puzzle to solve.”

Without skipping a beat, Atem’s hand pauses its petting to slide down and press a finger to Kaiba’s lips. “Use another word than ‘puzzle.’ I’m begging you.” 

“P—“

The words die on Kaiba’s tongue, and he registers very quickly that Atem’s fingertip is a bit calloused, warm, more blunt than his own, nails almost as carefully manicured as his own, all in a split second as his cock suddenly hardens in reaction to someone touching his mouth. How abrupt! How self-important!

Feeling very much as if he’s the one being taken wrong-footed, he reaches up, closing his own long-fingered hand around Atem’s, pulling it from his mouth. It’s too much just yet, makes him want too much, makes his heart hurt. “You’ve given me a problem to solve,” he amends. “Now that I know you _can_ be summoned, I have to find some way to make such a thing permanent.”

Atem’s fingers curl within Kaiba’s grasp. “Mm. I see.” His head tilts where it rests against his arm as he regards Kaiba, thinking. “I’m not entirely sure if I should encourage that or not,” he wryly admits after a moment, dislodging his hand to set it back into Kaiba’s hair, and deliberately pushes some of it the wrong way. “The probable balance of the universe being at stake, and all of that. But…the selfish part of me would like to figure it out. For you to figure it out.” 

“I suppose I should have first asked…if you want to stay.” Kaiba’s eyes flick open, latching on to Atem’s gaze, holding it for a long moment, even as his skin prickles pleasurably every time Atem plays with his hair. “You earned your Afterlife, after all.”

“I did,” Atem slowly agrees, curling his fingers to run his nails against Kaiba’s scalp. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to want several things. The opposite, in fact. I’m the Pharaoh.” 

Kaiba snorts. “You can want all you want, but you can’t be both dead and alive at the same time. Do you want to be here, or there? Let me know before I waste my time.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve been dead and alive at the same time for _awhile_ , Seto.”

“So if you had to pick one, you argumentative ingrate.”

Atem’s lips purse. “You want me to say that I want to be here, and I do. I _also_ would like to have my friends in the Afterlife.” 

Kaiba sighs, irritated, and sits up, shaking out his hair, then smoothing it firmly down as he gets out of the bed. “Fine, then stay in-between. Get dressed, we’re going to the Duel Ring. If you haven’t decided to stick around yet, I’ll have to get what I want from you now.”

Ruffled, Atem sits up, glowers at Kaiba’s nicely shaped back, then collapses back down into the bed. “You didn’t let me finish with your hair and I’m still basking. You _will_ wait.” 

“You have until I’m out of the shower,” Kaiba informs him, grabbing a set of clothes from the closet. 

“Bold of you to assume you can tell me what to do.” 

“You’re in _my_ room. Be a better houseguest.” Kaiba sneers the words, but doesn’t meet Atem’s eyes, knowing he’s doing a bad job of covering up the hurt in his own. “When someone offers to split the reality of life and death for you, at least have a proper answer ready for them. Die, then, if that’s what you’d rather do than stay here with me.”

He shoves through the bathroom door, stripping off his underwear, starting the water, all with teeth clenched so hard he can hear popping sounds in his jaw.

“Kaiba—“ 

Atem scowls at the bathroom door for a moment, then heaves himself from the bed, unable to let that stand without an argument. “As much as you might like to deny it,” he grinds out as he yanks open the door and shoves himself firmly between it and the frame before Kaiba can shut it on him, “not everything is _so_ black and white that every choice is easy and straight-forward. It isn’t that I don’t want to be here with you, so don’t make it about that!”

Kaiba curses, grabbing for a towel to hold it in front of his waist and rather obvious erection, face red hot. “Get out,” he snarls, backing up until his back hits the shower door, biting back a yelp. “Out!”

“No,” Atem snaps back, folding his arms over his chest. “ _You_ get over yourself. We should be past this point already. You can’t ask me to stay with you over my _very_ well-deserved Afterlife and then be embarrassed that I turn you on, that’s not how it works.” 

“I can do whatever I want in my house!” Kaiba snarls, more embarrassed and angry with every passing moment. “You show up out of nowhere, in my bed, and tell me that you’re with another man—another _me_ —and keep kissing me and touching me and leading me on? And you don’t even want to _stay_? You think I let people treat me this way?”

“When did I _ever_ say that I didn’t want to stay?” Atem hisses, not backing down for an instant. “Stop putting words in my mouth. For that matter—Kaiba, I’m not _with_ him, I’m not _his._ I haven’t led you on about anything, you’re the one refusing to listen!”

“Liar!” Kaiba slams his hand against one wall, the other still firmly clutching the towel as his last hint of modesty. “You said he was your _lover_ , now you’re taking that back?”

“Just because he’s my lover doesn’t mean—for fuck’s sake, we aren’t _married_ ,” Atem exasperatedly says. “Kaiba. I’m not lying to you. Just because I was close to Seth and we were lovers has _extremely_ little bearing on you and I. This—“ He unfolds his arms to wave a hand in a broad gesture. “You and I. We are a whole separate issue. You can calm down and stop being such a jealous prick at _any point_.” 

“I’m not having this conversation like this,” Kaiba snarls, reaching down to wrap the towel around his slender waist, knotting it tightly at the side. “Fine, you were the Pharaoh, you got to command whoever you wanted to your bed every night, but that’s not the kind of thing I can accept! If you’re going to be worth the intrusion into my life, I’m going to get what I want out of it, or you can fuck off!”

“Fine! Then maybe you should learn how to ask for what you want, and stop making me guess over the most basic things!” Atem snaps back, a hand on the door. “In spite of what you _obviously_ believe, I don’t relish playing games with the people I care about. Take your shower, and don’t talk to me until you’ve figured something out!” 

He slams the door shut and retreats to the bed, grabbing a pillow to muffle a frustrated screech into.

Kaiba wrenches the door back open, forgetting his state of undress as the fury builds inside of him. He stalks over to the bed, grabbing Atem by the wrist, hauling him up to face him. “You’re not the only one who gets to make rules,” he thunders, eyes ablaze. “Telling me how to act, how to make you _reward_ me—I’m not waiting on your scraps! You want to know what I want?”

Atem yanks back against Kaiba’s hold, eyes glittering angrily when it’s apparent he can’t readily escape. “Don’t you _dare_ grab me,” he hisses, voice low in warning. “But go on, if you suddenly want to be so _forthcoming_.” 

“You really have been around people who only do your bidding for too long,” Kaiba scoffs, and drags Atem even closer, leaning down until they’re almost nose to nose, his blue eyes glittering. “You got in my personal space, don’t be so surprised when the same thing happens to you!”

“…You have three seconds to use your words before I hit you,” Atem growls, his glare unwavering as he holds Kaiba’s gaze, stubbornly digging his heels into the floor in an attempt to be unmoved. “Or can you still not say anything, even after I’ve given you the permission you _apparently_ need?”

“I want—“

Shit.

How the _fuck_ to put it into words?

No, no, instinct is the only thing that can save him now. A fighter’s instinct—a duelist’s instinct. Kaiba presses ahead, determined not to think, just to say whatever seems _right_ , the way Atem has always done. His fingers curl on Atem’s wrist, and he says, all in a rush, “I don’t want to share. I don’t want to lose something once I’ve taken it for my own. I don’t want you to be anything but mine!”

“Fine.” 

There’s a long, tense moment where Atem says nothing else, still glaring up at Kaiba and unmoving, drawn up so tightly where Kaiba’s hand encircles his wrist that he almost vibrates. “Then let me go. Now.”

Kaiba searches Atem’s face for a second, then releases his wrist, almost as if the golden bracelets had turned molten hot. “There.”

Atem drops his arm, stares at him tensely a moment longer, then briskly brushes past him. “I’m using your shower.” 

He promptly slams the door behind him, and locks Kaiba out.

“…feelings are stupid, I’m stupid, he’s stupid, and _especially_ , I’m stupid,” Kaiba snarls to himself. Humiliation builds inside of him, and he rips the towel off, grabbing whatever clothing he finds first, stalking out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Never one to turn down a challenge, Malik rather enjoys doing as he’s told, especially when he’s told to wake Bakura with a blowjob.

He starts slowly, mouthing over the head, sucking the entire soft length into his mouth while he still can, reaching a hand down to stroke himself slowly as he does. The frantic, sudden coupling of the previous night was exactly what he’s been wanting, but this is nice, too, especially when he’d woken up so sore he’d paled when he forgot what they’d done and tensed up wrong. Now that he’s awake and used to it, the lingering ache is pleasant, even welcome, reminding him that for once in the last year, he’s been ridden hard and put up wet, and very much _not_ sent to bed without supper.

He takes his time, making a feast out of the task, taking advantage of Bakura’s sweet, sleeping face, feeling him harden against his tongue. What _would_ he look like, a dark god of chaos and avarice, riding out of the night with a wild laugh to sack a nearby village? Malik is fairly certain he can picture it, and does, his eyes sliding shut as he runs his tongue over and over the head, soft wet skin against skin making his own cock fill against the palm of his hand.

Bakura stirs slowly from arguably the first sleep he’s had in a solid year—or at least, the first sleep not caused by simply slipping into some kind of weird, unconscious state of not-being. 

His cock twitches, slowly filling with every lap of Malik’s tongue, with the slide of those warm, soft lips against him. He sighs out a long breath, not bothering to open his eyes even as he becomes vaguely aware, and lets one hand lazily, languidly move, dropping to rest on Malik’s hair and stroke.

The hand on the back of his head, as gentle as Bakura ever gets (as gentle as Malik would ever want him to be) lets him know he’s doing a good job, and that’s heady enough that he leans in further, swallowing around the thick length, letting it swell down his throat. He doesn’t pull back, remembering Bakura’s warnings from the night before, delving down. 

Maybe, just maybe, long-dead thief kings deserve a soft, sweet blowjob every now and then, too, something that just feels _good_ without any expectations.

The low, rumbling noise of approval that comes from Bakura’s throat sounds more at home from a big cat than a human. His fingers curl and flex, the tips of his nails dragging against Malik’s scalp, still petting rather than dragging and yanking as he had earlier. 

“… _Good_ boy,” is the breathy exhale to follow, his voice husky from sleep and disuse. Bakura’s toes curl, his thighs shifting apart. “This is why I’m keeping you.”

Malik’s cock stiffens so suddenly he lets out a choked little whimper around Bakura’s cock, and he ducks down eagerly, wanting to earn more of that praise, more of that affection, seeking that same reaction with every lap and swipe and curl of his tongue. His other hand comes up to Bakura’s hip, down to pet at his thigh.

The noise Malik makes goes straight to Bakura’s cock, and he groans as it throbs against Malik’s tongue, dripping eagerly down his throat. “Juuust like that,” he murmurs, his fingers coming to rest against the back of Malik’s head, a firm, but not cruel suggestion to stay put when Bakura’s own hips cant up, fucking up slowly into his mouth. “If you wanna taste it again, tap twice. Otherwise, it’s a proper meal this time.”

Knowing Bakura is getting close is an odd thrill— _I did that, I made him this hard, he loves fucking my mouth this much_ —and Malik stays where he’s guided, letting Bakura hold him in place and use his mouth for his pleasure. That thick cock makes him choke a bit when it slides into his throat, but he doesn’t tap, not when the idea of having his belly filled directly with heat makes his cock throb. He looks up through his lashes, and deliberately lowers himself down farther, even when tears spring to his eyes, making his lashes wet.

“…Fuck,” Bakura mutters, sucking in a sharp, ragged breath as he looks down at that exact moment. His fingers clench into Malik’s hair, and his cock throbs hard, pulsing against Malik’s tongue as he sighs out a long, sated breath, spilling warm and slick down Malik’s throat. He shivers, wiggling his curled toes as that tension leaves his body, slowly sinking down again as his fingers drag back up through Malik’s hair in a casual, approving stroke. “There you go. That noise you make when you choke a little…that gets me off so fucking fast. Cheater.” 

Malik swallows, sucking on the head as he pulls back, licking up the last lingering drops before letting Bakura’s cock fall from his lips with a wet ‘pop.’ “It’s not cheating,” he says, voice throaty and low from the abuse, “if I’m really choking, is it? Mm, thanks for the meal…”

“Yeah, but I know you do it deliberately, slut,” Bakura mutters, mussing Malik’s hair again before he shifts and grabs for him, tugging on Malik’s arm to drag him up his body. “Up here. Wanna get off? Fuck, what day is it, I feel like I slept the sleep of the dead…”

“Uhh…” Malik looks around as he’s cuddled, eyes catching on a clock. “It’s a bit after two in the afternoon. Thursday. Second of Flood. Oh, shit, I have a Skype call in like an hour, I forgot.”

“What was yesterday? I’m trying to keep track of when I have to go back to the hole of torment, you know,” Bakura grumbles, his eyes falling shut again as he lies back, attempting to push aside the flutter of impending doom that falls over him. 

“The first of Flood. Told you, I can only do the spell on the first of the quarter,” Malik reminds him, and wraps his arms around Bakura, squeezing him close. “Ugh, fine. Tell me what kind of powerful spiritual grounding I need. Help me research, I don’t know a lot of shit about this shit.”

“Fuck if I know,” Bakura automatically, moodily says, distracted enough now that his pleasant orgasm wears off that he doesn’t seem to even mind Malik squeezing him. “The shit I used to do…it was either innate through the power of an item, or, you know, influenced by an evil dark god.” He pauses, licking his lips. “Where are the Millennium items, apropos of nothing?”

“Scattered and buried in the desert,” Malik says with a sigh, flopping back, reaching down to rub his cock again. “That Kaiba guy went and dug up the puzzle, so that’s…kind of gay.”

“…Are you for _fucking_ real.” 

“Yyyep. Mm, I’m just kinda thinking…maybe now that we know this works, we spend our three days having fun, and then I do research while you’re back in the death hole? Then next quarter, I’ll summon you again, and we figure out what to do,” Malik suggests. “I just don’t want to waste our time.”

“Easy for you to say,” Bakura tersely says, shoving himself up onto his elbows. “ _You_ don’t have to go back into the fucking death hole.” He grits his teeth, curbing his temper after another, short inhale, looking away. “Look. I’d love to be doing nothing but fucking you, but if we _can_ figure this out this time, then I can fuck you _all_ the time.” 

A weird, uncomfortable flush of hope ripples through Malik, and his hand stills on his cock. “Yeah?” he asks, as casually as he can. “Well…shit, yeah, okay. What do you want to do? You need a computer?”

“…Maybe.” Bakura’s eyes slide sideways, back to Malik’s face. “Show me the spellwork you used. And then I might need to go steal some shit.” 

“From like, museums?” Malik asks doubtfully. “Or from the tombs? I told you, they’re _really_ picked-over.”

“You can say that all you want, but there’s no way in hell modern idiots are capable of finding some of the shit I could.” 

“…Yeah?” Malik sits up, ruffling a hand back through his hair. “Mm, all right. I mostly only stole stuff when I had the Millennium Rod to make people do what I said. Man…I really miss that thing sometimes.”

Bakura barks out a laugh. “Yeah, that thing was useful. The Ring was fun, even if it meant sharing a soul with a dark god. Probably wouldn’t do _that_ twice, though.” He heaves a sigh, raking a hand back through his hair. “And I’ve done a lot of stupid shit twice. Do your Skype call, I’m going to go cleanse my filthy body and we’ll reconvene.” 

“You have to run it for a while to get the hot to turn on,” Malik warns him, and tugs on his shirt, grabbing his laptop and setting up the table, grabbing a headset. “I’ll be a couple hours.”

“Cool, whatever. I’m going to dig through your collection of occult shit, fair warning.” 

“There’s probably not as much as you think.” Malik puts the headset on, just as the screen fills with familiar faces, and he smiles. “Hi, guys. Sorry I’m late. Where were we, the Forest of Fading Memories?”

“…You have to be shitting me,” Bakura says underneath his breath, hauling himself up to his feet in search of the bath. 

Malik _vastly_ overestimates what his qualifications for a good bath are, though waiting around for the water to get hot _is_ satisfying. Bakura drenches himself, glorying in how it feels to be scrubbed clean to the point of his skin being raw. He claws himself out of the bath a good hour later, when the skin of this body surprisingly wrinkles just like it were a real one. He scrubs his hair as dry as he can and then twists it up on the back of his head, knotting it through itself to hold it into place, and tugs on a casually stolen pair of pajama pants snagged from Malik’s bedroom before wandering off in search of Malik’s collection. 

Malik isn’t joking. There _isn’t_ as much as he would’ve thought, which is disappointing, and makes an odd, stressed pang run through him. 

Right.

He’s not stupid.

He can figure this out, even without the help of a fucking dark god. He’s figured out plenty of shit. 

Even still—hours later, sitting cross-legged on the floor of Malik’s study, books and parchment strewn along, Bakura feels no closer than when he started, his frustration and anger (and panic, but like fuck he’s mentioning that) growing. 

Malik pushes the door open, looking energized and cheerful, holding a foil-wrapped packet in one hand, taking a bite. “Hey, sorry that took so long, Ryou sprang some traps on us. Find anything good?”

Bakura slowly glances up, eyebrows arched high. “I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he drawls. “That kid still talks to you? Fucking wild. Hope it was good.” He flicks a strand of his hair out of his face as he looks back down at the book he’d been pouring over, to no avail. “I haven’t found shit. The spell you used was fucking weird.” 

“Yeah,” Malik agrees, dropping down to the floor next to Bakura, offering him the packet. “It’s, uh, mashed chickpeas and onions and mayo in a pita, you want?”

“You’re such a queer,” Bakura says underneath his breath, even though he takes it, steals a bite, then passes it back. “What do _you_ think would be considered a balancing force to me?”

“Uh…someone who puts stuff back? Like Indiana Jones, maybe? Colonizing bastard, obviously, but he looks _cool_ in that hat.” Malik frowns, taking another bite. “Why are you so obsessed with the cost? Worry more about how much blood it takes, I’ve been suuuuper lightheaded.”

“Can you put your smart brain on for five minutes?” Bakura snaps abruptly, gaze rounding on Malik again, this time much sharper. “A spirit like me has to be grounded here somehow. This body—it’s fucking ectoplasm at best. That’s why it has a time limit. If I’m not bound here with an artifact that can contain my actual _soul_ , then I’m fucked, Malik. Do you think I also haven’t thought about how _you_ can’t keep this up forever? What fucking good are you if you’ve bled out on the floor after summoning me, huh?” 

Malik flushes hotly, eyes flashing as he glares back at Bakura. “Yeah, what fucking good am I?” he spits, shoulders tense and set. “I’m just the one that dragged you out of the hole of death and eternal torment, fuck me for not doing it _better_ the very first time, right?”

Bakura holds up a hand, breathing in a slow breath through his nose, then exhaling it through his teeth. “That’s not how I meant it. Don’t make me clarify, just rethink how I fucking meant it before you get pissy.” 

“I’m not your fucking servant, Bakura,” Malik snaps, climbing to his feet. “Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll try, but quit acting like I owe you unending loyalty and obedience.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Bakura mutters, reaching out a hand and grabbing Malik’s wrist to yank him back down. “ _You_ summoned here,” he lowly says, grabbing Malik’s face in his other hand, forcing him to look at him. “ _You_ wanted me here. _You_ fucking woke me up and gave me a taste of the living world again without being attached to a fucking shitty, evil god. I don’t _want_ you fucking killing yourself and bleeding out on the floor to make it happen again and again, that’s why I’m _pissed off_ that I can’t figure it out. I want to go find something fucking cursed as hell because that’s about all I can think of at this point, which is why I’m asking you to turn your brain on, and draw on the knowledge your crazy family might have tossed around, _just in case_.” His fingers tighten, shaking slightly before Bakura releases him. “Are we on the same page now?” 

“…Mm. Yeah.” Mollified, blushing a bit, Malik turns back to the books, poking one of them. “This is the one where I found that spell, but it’s not from my family’s stores. On the inside jacket, it says book one of two, but I don’t have book two. Ah…he writes about some of the funereal rites of the twelfth dynasty, before your time, in the Middle Kingdom period. Specifically, the Queen of the Black Pyramid.”

“Fuck if I’ve heard of that before,” Bakura exhales, not looking at Malik again after that outburst, even though he’s relieved to have that out of the way. “Or have I. Gotta admit, I was pretty laser-focused before,” he mutters, rubbing a hand back through his still-damp hair. “Any idea where the second book might be?” 

“No idea. I’ve looked at bookstores, but nothing.” Malik shrugs. “I haven’t been able to find it online, either.”

“…Any chance it’s still in the Black Pyramid?” 

“I mean, they didn’t really have books in the sixth dynasty,” Malik points out. “There might be a pretty kickass collection of plates and scrolls, though. Or if we’re lucky, a family that passes down their secrets by carving up their ten-year-olds with hot knives. But the Black Pyramid was looted ages ago. Like, over a hundred years ago.”

“But not by me,” Bakura says, his eyes narrowing in thought. “If there’s something, I can find it. If I can’t find it, then it wasn’t there to begin with.”

“…I don’t really understand, but your confidence makes me horny,” Malik says contemplatively. “Wanna take my sand bike? I got a 450.”

“Whatever that means.” Bakura shrugs, leaning back onto his hands. “Sure. If I can dig around in there and find something…even if there isn’t time to put it to use this time, you’ll have it for next time.” 

“You want to eat something first?” Malik suggests. “Do you get hungry in this body? I mean, it _feels_ real. And if you don’t, I’m just going to throw it away, chicken is nasty.”

“…Yeah, it’s inconvenient,” Bakura grouses. “I guess beer isn’t enough these days, huh. Chicken, really? Couldn’t murder me a cow?” 

“Chicken is cheaper,” Malik says with a shrug. “I didn’t know if I was going to pull it off. We can stop at Dragon Burger if you want, it’s not far from where we’re going to be hitting the desert.”

“Have more faith in your prissy ass,” Bakura says, climbing to his feet. “Starting now. You dragged me back from the depths of hell, you should feel impressed with yourself. I can’t think of anyone else capable of making that happen, after how harshly the gods judged me in death.” 

“I’m glad you think so, because I can’t imagine Ma’at is too happy with—“

Malik pauses, thinking his face slowly creasing in a frown. “Oh…Ma’at. That’s—“ He kneels, going through the book again, flipping the pages rather aggressively, cursing when he finds it. “That’s it.”

“Hmm?” Bakura leans over behind him, arms folding over his chest, doing his best to not get too excited. “What’s it? What’d you find, pretty boy?” 

“…Probably not what you’re looking for, but it’s what you keep asking me about,” Malik says, a bit distractedly. “Your opposite, that comes out? It’s the word used for weights and measures. Someone whose heart is exactly as heavy as yours would have to be sent there in your place, or someone whose heart weighed at the exact opposite of yours, in relation to the scales, would have come out. I don’t suppose you remember that part of the Afterlife?”

“Don’t remember much, gotta admit,” Bakura says, his mouth twisting. “Someone’s heart who is exactly as heavy as mine, or the exact opposite of mine…well, fuck. Guess they must be a real sparkly superstar sweetheart to come out, I’m a fucking _ass_. I dunno who would be as shitty as me, either. I—“ 

Bakura freezes, a sudden thought occurring to him, and then he chokes out a nervous giggle, straightening up as he clamps a hand over his mouth. “Shiiit. What if you _really_ fucked up?”

“Shut up!” Malik whines, slapping Bakura in the shoulder. “Shut up! What?”

“Oh, gee, I dunno. Let’s think for a second—who is _extra_ fancy _and_ loved by the gods _and_ all kinds of wrapped up in our magic from day fucking one?” 

“… _How_ is that your first conclusion?” Malik demands, mystified. “I—fuuuuuck, wait. Him sacrificing his soul to seal you in death…ooh, fuck, that’s just about the closest thing to a reciprocal soul weight I can think of.” He chews on his bottom lip, anxiety flushing his face. “What do you think are the chances we’re wrong and I’ll be able to keep this shit a secret from my family?”

“Pretty fucking slim, if we’re right,” Bakura deadpans. “Still feeling good about this booty call?” 

“No!” Malik drags his hands down his face. “Ugh, this sucks, I knew I was a fucking idiot, but…damn it! Why did Rishid have to go out of town instead of stopping me?”

“Because you’re horny and that’s the way the world is.” Bakura goes silent for a moment, his fingers drumming slowly against his arms. “If you don’t want to fuck around with this anymore, I’ll do it. I know you moved on and made your amends. I don’t want someone half-assing it.” 

For a moment, Malik almost considers it.

Almost.

Then he sighs, and bumps his shoulder against Bakura’s. “Shut up and come loot a tomb with me.”

Bakura’s lips curl, and he drops a hand, giving Malik’s ass a slap before grabbing it, and dragging him close. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he murmurs, kissing Malik soundly, his teeth sharp against his lower lip. “Even if we fucking die, I’m _fun_.” 

“Get me off first,” Malik gasps, grabbing at Bakura’s hair. “I gave you such a good blowjob, didn’t I? And you didn’t even _touch_ me. Nnh, if you don’t, I won’t be able to ride on that bike with you…”

“I _asked_ if you wanted to get off, bitch. You’re the one that then had to go play a game for hours,” Bakura growls, but there’s no real irritation behind the words. He shoves Malik flat onto his back with another rough kiss, and swiftly yanks at the fastenings of his pants. “I guarantee I would’ve DMed it better, by the way,” he mutters as he slithers down, and drags Malik’s cock to his lips with insistent fingers, his tongue hot as it swipes over the tip. 

Malik lets out a squeal, hands coming down to clutch at Bakura’s hair, not pulling, just eager to hold, to let Bakura know that he’s the _best_ at this. _You were the first person ever to put your mouth on my cock, did you know that?_ he thinks dreamily, absolutely refusing to say it aloud. Instead, he shoves his pants further down, spreading his legs to let Bakura have his run of the place. “You—nnh, yeah? When you’re back properly, I’ll invite you, Ryou would be _thrilled_ to be a player at some point…fuck, you have the best tongue.”

_I am so aware_ , Bakura smugly thinks, only pulling back to shove his fingers into his own mouth for a moment, swiping his tongue around them to leave them sticky and slick from his own saliva, and the droplet of precome he’d already licked from Malik’s cock. “Doubt he’d be so thrilled to see me, but whatever,” he says with a casual shrug, descending on Malik’s cock again with a long, wet suck as his lips wrap around the head, and his fingers slide underneath, quick to sink inside of Malik’s body, deep and thorough. 

Malik squirms, his eyelids fluttering, toes curling as he tries to grind down on that intrusion into his body, his sore hole squeezing around Bakura’s fingers, hips bucking down against the fingers, up into Bakura’s mouth. “Fuck, who cares, _I’m_ glad to see you, as long as you keep touching me like this I’ll raid any tomb you want, no one makes me come like you…”

Bakura’s eyes lid as he swallows Malik down, letting him arch up into his mouth as his tongue works over the head of Malik’s cock, teasing out every drop from every twitch and shudder. His fingers spread as they press deep inside, then curl back towards himself, deliberately _stroking_. It’s hard not to spoil Malik when he says shit like that, so help him. _Not that he gets to know that shit, though._

Malik sort of falls back onto his hands, arms shivering as he tries to hold himself up in position, undulating slowly onto Malik’s hand, up into his mouth. That wicked tongue curling around his cock makes him hiss through his teeth, and he grinds up into that wet heat, desperately seeking more. His own hand comes up, rolling a nipple between his fingertips, feeling the metal sliding through his skin as Bakura rubs his prostate deliberately. “You want it in your mouth?” he breathes, already flying high, feeling less than sober. “On your face? You don’t have—nn—a lot of time to decide…”

Bakura’s stare flicks up from between Malik’s thighs—briefly, just before he sucks him down completely, a rumbling, hungry purr welling from his throat as he swallows around Malik’s cock, making his answer readily apparent. 

Pleasure bubbles up inside of Malik, less violent, less of a crashing wave than the first couple of times Bakura has fucked him, but no less thorough as he pants, hips twitching up as he spills into Bakura’s mouth in a sudden rush of liquid. He groans, one hand coming up to grip Bakura’s hair, holding him down as he rides out his orgasm. “Ohh…. _fuck_ , that’s good,” he whimpers. “You have…the most sinful mouth…”

Bakura inhales slowly through his nose, swallowing slowly to savor the way it feels as Malik comes down his throat. He waits until Malik’s cock stops pulsing against his tongue, until he stops squirming and shivering around his fingers, and then he dislodges the hand in his hair, pulling back with a last, deliberate drag of his tongue. “Taught you how to suck cock, didn’t I?” he lowly, hoarsely laughs, leaning up to catch Malik’s mouth with his own, all but sticking his tongue down his throat. 

“…Yeah,” Malik admits, wrapping his arms and legs around Bakura, sucking on his tongue, feeling that familiar flip of his stomach at the taste of even his own semen, relishing it anyway, chasing it deliberately. He nibbles on Bakura’s bottom lip, and murmurs, “If I bring you back properly, imagine how much you can teach me then, huh?”

“…You’re gonna be the reason I die again,” Bakura says with a ragged laugh, kissing Malik soundly one more time before he forces himself to pull back. “Get up, or we’ll keep doing this forever. I want a fucking burger before we raid a tomb.” 

“If that isn’t a fun Thursday night, I don’t know what is,” Malik says cheerfully, climbing to his feet and tugging up his pants. “Now, you get to meet my baby.”

The baby in question is a beautifully-maintained desert bike, with thick tires and a huge storage compartment, painted lavender with sleek gold chrome. “She’s not, like, stealthy?” Malik admits, tossing Bakura a helmet, then taking two shotguns off of the wall, tucking one into a holster on his back, securing the other to a compartment on the side of his bike before throwing a leg over. “But that’s why we don’t let people get close.”

Bakura stares for a moment, then looks down at his cock, which seems intent on coming to life again. “Fucking stop it,” he exasperatedly says to it, then looks back to Malik—with guns—again. “You for real want me to wear a helmet? Seems lame. You got rope and a knife in there, by the way?” 

“Check the back,” Malik says with a smirk, flipping open the trunk, revealing just about everything a couple of thieves could need—or, of course, someone who regularly patrols tombs by himself at night. “The helmet is the law, don’t get me pulled over, that would be dumb. It also keeps anyone from seeing your face on camera.”

“They’d have a hell of a time tracking down a shitty Japanese kid, but sure, fine,” Bakura grouses, knotting his hair up against the back of his neck anew. “I’m gonna fuck you _so_ hard later,” he promises, putting the helmet on before climbing on behind Malik. 

Malik pauses, glaring at Bakura, then down at his dick. “Stop it,” he mutters, annoyed. “Bakura, I’m serious, do _not_ play with my nipples while I’m driving, I’ll crash this thing and then I’ll kill you for hurting my baby.”

“I’m not gonna play with your nipples while you’re driving, I don’t want to die _again_. You’re the one that looks hot with a gun _and_ is well-equipped for crimes, I can’t help but want to fuck you.” 

“…I mean, we can fuck before we go? I’m not gonna say no…”

“We _just did_. Drive, Malik.” 

Malik revs his bike, peeling out of the garage and around the corner, zooming down the streets to Dragon Burger, grabbing a quick bite to toss back over his shoulder before he heads out to the desert. “I don’t really know exactly where the Black Pyramid is,” he admits, calling back. “It’s a couple hours from here, pretty much northeast? After that, no idea.”

“We’re gonna do it by feel,” Bakura cheerfully calls back between destroying his burger. “I’ll be able to sense it. I always can!” 

Malik tightens his hands on the handles, his speed shooting up to well over a hundred kilometers now that they’re out of the city, sand kicking up behind them as the night sky flies by. “You better hope the British and the French haven’t taken everything we need, then!”


	6. Chapter 6

Being entirely unable to stand one more moment around the reincarnation of his arguably closest lover and priest is a logical thing to feel. Surely. _Surely_ it is. 

Even if it isn’t, the disproportionate frustration and anger brings about a phone call—“By the way, I _know_ you were lying about not gossiping with Yuugi, because I _saw your text messages_ ”—after Kaiba orders his computer to lock the phone on three separate occasions during the span of the conversation. 

And so, Atem ends up in Yuugi’s familiar room, in a foul mood—but at least away from the source of it. 

Darkly, Atem wonders if this is his true fate in the world—to be ripped to and fro from the Afterlife back to some horrific state of limbo with the one person he simultaneously is supposed to know _so_ well, but also, apparently can’t _stand_. The urge to rant about the stupidity of Kaiba Seto wells up within him, bubbling just below the surface with every damnable card that he painstakingly packages in plastic sleeves, a task set before him when it was obvious if he didn’t do _something_ with his time, he was going to likely toss himself out of the window.

“Grandpa’s going to be so happy you’re back,” Yuugi says, eyes shining as he looks back at Atem, as if it’s some sort of treat to be able to actually see him for once. “Do you know how long you’re staying? I know you said it’s all very mysterious, but do you think I have time to get everyone together for a party? Oh, you _just_ missed Game Night…”

It would be extremely easy to snap and snarl right now. Atem twitches a bit, remembering the _rude_ way Kaiba had simply grabbed him, like he had any _right_ to be that brusque. _Bastard._

Then he glances up for a moment, and—damn it. It’s not like he can be irritable around _Yuugi_. _He_ isn’t an unrepentant asshole with emotions that are not responding in the correct way. 

“…I have no idea how long I’ll be here,” he admits. “It might be best to limit how many people know I’m here until we figure that out. I’m sorry, I know this is annoying.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Yuugi’s stare is entreating as he slides another card into the proper sleeve, sealing it meticulously. “I just—I’m so happy you’re here, is all! I mean, it’s not like I ever wanted you to go in the first place…”

“And yet, me coming back has definitely upset something in the balance of the universe,” Atem gloomily says, another card going into its sleeve. “I can’t think of any other reason I’d be subjected to _Kaiba_ being the way he is.”

“He’s so…” Yuugi shakes his head, obviously frustrated. “I can tell he’s trying to be a better person, but he’s so _bad_ at it. And he’s so…you know. Kaiba. It’s awful.”

“The problem with Kaiba Seto,” Atem immediately begins, latching onto this chance to complain when properly invited into it, “is that he does _not_ respond like a normal human, let _alone_ like—you know, I know Priest Seth _very well_ , let’s start there.” 

“Eh? Why start somewhere I can’t go?” Yuugi asks, confused. “Isn’t Priest Seth a totally different person? Like you are to me?”

“The concept is still the same. It _should_ still be the same.”

“He’s just really…you know, he’s a spoilsport,” Yuugi agrees, skipping over the part he doesn’t understand. “You know? I thought you broke him of that, but it’s not enough for him to have what he wants, he has to be the _only_ one with it.”

“ _Why_ does he have to be like that?” Atem exasperatedly says, not at all expecting an answer. “That kind of thing has driven me up the wall ever since we first had to deal with him. Like—there’s no common sense behind having four Blue Eyes White Dragons, you can only _use_ three. His entire existence is _that_ level of illogical, applied to every concept and thing.”

Yuugi sighs, shaking his head. “This is like the dildo thing all over again.”

Atem blinks, startled enough to drop a card. “The—the what?” 

“…I keep forgetting you’ve been dead and you don’t read my Snap,” Yuugi says, giggling a bit as he packages another card. “You’ve missed out on so much in the group chats, but—okay, so, you know Naughty Monsters? The company that makes fantasy dildos? I showed you that site, right?”

“You did. Please catch me up, I’m…I’m almost too horrified to ask, but I _need_ to know how this relates to Kaiba,” Atem faintly says, leaning over to pick up the card he’d dropped. 

“Hold on.” Yuugi grabs for his phone, pulling up a photo from his camera roll, showing it to Atem. “So, they made a Blue Eyes, White Dragon version.”

Atem stares, wide-eyed. “…No. You have _got_ to be joking.” 

Yuugi starts laughing, so hard his shoulders shake. “S-so…they were ready to go live, right? And a couple of us were watching the launch, because we thought it would be funny…and then the site crashes, right?”

“…Right…” Atem leans back, and wipes a hand down his face. “No, he didn’t. He couldn’t have possibly.” 

“H-he…” Yuugi starts to struggle with getting the words out. “He bought _all_ of them—and we just _knew_ it was him, right? Who else? And he—he did a _press release_ about it, he apparently not only bought all of them, but he paid five million yen for their _mold_ and destroyed it so they could never make it again! Anyway, then he sued them for copyright infringement and won like, ninety million yen because they didn’t have the rights for one of the dongs they were making.”

Atem slowly leans forward over the table, burying his face down into his arms. “Hearing that makes me want to go back to the Afterlife and never look at him again.” 

“No, don’t go!” Yuugi’s laughter vanishes instantly, and he touches Atem’s arm gently with one hand. “I’m sorry, partner, I didn’t mean to gross you out.”

“I’m not grossed out, I’m _horrified_ that I can find someone that stupid _attractive_.” 

“You—ohhhhh.” Yuugi’s smile is understanding, and he pats that arm instead. “Yeah. That’s rough.”

“He is the _biggest_ moron in the entire world,” Atem darkly says, lifting his head. “I can’t in good faith be interested in someone that buys out hundreds—thousands? Of Blue Eyes White Dragon dildos.” 

“But you _are_ ,” Yuugi says sympathetically. “It’s okay. He’s really tall, I understand.”

“…But why did he even want them?” Atem laments. “We all know now that Blue Eyes White Dragon is _female._ It doesn’t even make sense. He could have just…let it go!”

“He said it was disgraceful of them to dishonor her that way…look,” Yuugi says helplessly, and shows his phone again, this time with a collage of several memes pulled up, all some variation of Seto Kaiba’s face, coupled with increasingly lewd humor. **_TFW you can’t get laid / but you have six thousand dildos_** , reads one description.

“I have absolutely no sympathy,” Atem immediately says, even his shoulders starting to shake a bit from the barely suppressed laughter. “None at all. His bathroom is Blue Eyes themed, by the way. I _hate_ this.” 

“There’s soooo many more memes,” Yuugi says, a bit dreamily. “That was a really good day for the internet. Oh, oh, can you settle a bet? Does he have Blue Eyes themed underwear?”

“Not that I saw, but he _does_ definitely lay around in Blue Eyes t-shirts,” Atem dryly says, plopping his chin down into one hand. “Show me more memes mocking him. He’s on my bad side right now.” 

“Hold on, I have a link to a compilation list,” Yuugi assures him, and pulls up a new browser window, then passes it over. “There should be two or three thousand there, honestly…I made a few of them myself. Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t apologize, I can’t stand him right now,” Atem forthrightly says, and immediately sets to scrolling. “How…how did he _survive_ this? Emotionally, physically, in general…”

“Oh, it was bad for a couple weeks. But then he publicly challenged all the heads of state in Asia to card games, then he made admission to all his theme parks free for a couple months…you know, come to think about it, he’s been in the news a _lot_ since then. He’s definitely bored.”

Atem pauses, and lowers the phone for a moment, staring over at Yuugi. “…Have _you_ seen the holodeck?” 

Yuugi’s eyes light up. “Isn’t it the coolest? He let us beta-test it, me and Jounouchi and Honda and Otogi and Ryou. It was _awesome_! Did you try the pirate ship? I got really seasick!”

“I see that you have not seen what I have seen.” Atem turns his attention back to the phone. “It was charming for a moment when he showed me his Ancient Egyptian simulator, but I think he’s only capable of being pleasant for five minutes.” 

“He has—really?” Yuugi asks, blinking. “I told him he should make one, and he told me I was an inferior human being. Then he started a game for dubloons and said we could keep the real gold if we won!” Yuugi beams. “I helped replace the roof of the game shop!”

“If he wants to be nice, why can’t he just be nice?” Atem says, flabbergasted. “Or at least be nice when I tell him to be nice. It’s simple.” 

“Oh…yeah…he totally loves being told what to do,” Yuugi says slowly, eyes wide. “Almost as much as you do…”

Atem opens his mouth to protest, then leans back, huffing a breath. “I feel like having a shared goal should make him be a _bit_ more reasonable. No, don’t comment on that, I’m hearing myself. I’m just annoyed.” 

“Well, yeah! He’s annoying!” Yuugi nudges his shoulder against Atem’s, grinning. “He’s Kaiba! But he’s our friend, even if he likes to pretend he isn’t.”

“The problem is when he is trying to act like he _is_ , and then still makes me want to strangle him,” Atem crossly says, swaying with the nudge. “For some reason, the universe spat me out in his bed, and he apparently doesn’t want to do _anything_ about that. Tell me about your girlfriend.” 

Yuugi’s eyes light up, and he pulls out his phone again, scrolling through dozens of pictures of himself and a sweet-faced, large-chested girl squishing him close. “Riko-chan! She’s the _cutest_ , right? She transferred into school this year, she was the Duel Monsters champ at her old school, don’t you think she’s the _cutest_?”

“She’s cute,” Atem agrees, his head tilting in vague disbelief. “Huh. _Very_ cute. Her chest is almost as large as Mana’s.” 

Yuugi sighs wistfully. “Mana-chan is super cute, too. Is she doing good? You know, dead, but good?”

“We’re all fairly content to be dead in the Afterlife…as the name implies,” Atem says with a laugh. “Yes, she’s doing well. Probably worried at this point,” he wryly says. “As nice as it is to see _you_ …I feel like this whole…thing…was a mistake, somehow.” 

Yuugi’s smile vanishes, his eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t say that, partner. There must be a reason for it. Maybe you’re supposed to mind crush Kaiba again?”

“No…no, I don’t think that’s it. Even though I want to.”

“But you think there’s a reason, right? Do…do you _want_ to come back?” Yuugi asks, very carefully. “I know, you earned your eternal rest, but…I can’t keep thinking that it sucks that you never got to live a full lifetime.”

“…Do you want to know something strange?” Atem asks instead of directly answering, and turns his head to look at him. “You’re technically _older_ than me now.” 

“See, that’s really messed up!” Yuugi insists, gripping Atem’s hand. “Hell, I think your friends should get to come back, too!”

“That…is definitely not how the Afterlife works,” Atem wryly points out, even as he curls his fingers around Yuugi’s. “Most of them were able to live out their lives after I died. They’re content. I…was.” His lips purse. “No, I am. I’m just angry with Kaiba right now, which happens.”

“…Does that mean that being angry at Kaiba makes you want to come back to life?” Yuugi asks hopefully. “Because I can tell you about some more stuff he’s done!”

“Do you miss me that much?” Atem’s expression softens. “I’m sorry, partner. This is why I didn’t want to reach out to you—ah, not that I didn’t want to see you, I just didn’t want you to…be upset, about seeing me again.” 

“It’s not that. I mean, it’s not _just_ that,” Yuugi amends, looking down at his feet. “I do miss you, a lot. You’re my best friend, and I only got to know you before you died. And I just…think you gave your life for the world, so you should get a second chance! Everyone else did!”

“It _would_ be nice if that were the case,” Atem wistfully says. “But…if my soul is here… _something_ brought it here. It isn’t as if I don’t want to be here, and see you, and…wrap up loose ends, at the very least,” he admits, glancing aside as well. “I can’t help but worry about _how_ I’m here, which I think is fair.” 

“Wait—was it not Kaiba?” Yuugi blinks, confused. “Everyone knows he’s been working on finding a way to bridge the Afterlife, Mokuba leaked it to us a couple months ago. He had the puzzle dug up in the desert and everything.”

Atem blinks back at him, mirroring Yuugi’s confused expression. “He—what? No, it wasn’t him. He was just as surprised that I ended up in his room as I was. He’s doing _what?_ ” 

“Yeah, Mokuba was all freaked out,” Yuugi says slowly, frowning. “He thought his brother was trying to, you know. Kill himself or something. But Kaiba just laughed at us and called us all losers, so we let it go. But yeah, he was totally trying to build some sort of…thing, hold on, let me see what Mokuba said.”

He scrolls through his messages, going back several weeks. “Yeah, there it is. He’s trying to build some kind of dimension transporter to find the specific Afterlife you were in.”

Atem breathes out a long, measured breath, and buries his face down into his hand. “He would rather try to build something like that,” he says after a long moment, “than stop arguing long enough to kiss.” 

“Uh, yeah. It’s Kaiba.” Yuugi grins. “You’re _sure_ he didn’t build it and just lie about not knowing you were coming?”

“He didn’t mention it at all, he—gods, you’re not wrong, that does sound like something he would do,” Atem wearily says, and he holds out his hand. “Let me borrow your phone for a moment, please.” 

Yuugi passes it over immediately, patting Atem’s shoulder. “He’s always been soooo weird about us. You? Not sure.”

“He’s making me exhausted,” Atem admits, flicking open Line. “I’m usually _very_ good at handling him…or so I thought, but then I realized that I’m mostly very good with _Seth_.” 

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**this is atem, borrowing yuugi’s phone.**

**if you leave me on read, i will never duel you again.**

“You think he’s that bad?” Yuugi asks timidly. “I mean, he _did_ save our lives, back in the game in Egypt…”

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**Stop making empty threats. You love dueling me.** ****

“What he does in public is entirely separate of what he does in private. I’m attempting to spare you the details, but I _will_ go more in depth if you want.” 

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**let’s talk about the dimension transporter that you didn’t mention.**

“Er…I mean, if it’s super perverted and you _want_ to talk about it, that’s fine?” Yuugi squeaks, trying not to look curious.

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**You want to go back that badly?**

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**no.**

“It _could_ have been super perverted,” Atem mutters crossly. “The memes aren’t wrong, he will _not_ get laid. I literally slept in his bed with him and got nowhere. _Look_ at me.” 

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**did you actually summon me here yourself and were too embarrassed to tell me?** ****

“I mean, you’re very attractive? You know…for my other self…”

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**…You think if I’d finished a successful dimension transporter that could destroy the very concept of death itself I’d be humble enough to keep it quiet? I think I’m flattered.**

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**i suppose not, but i’m annoyed you wouldn’t mention it at all.**

**or the fact you dug up the puzzle.**

**some cursed things need to stay in the ground. in fact, most do?**

**you could have mentioned any of this.**

“Objectively, I am beautiful,” Atem insists, shooting Yuugi a sideways look. “The point is—no, it got nowhere, because Kaiba can’t give an inch. I _thought_ I was making progress, but…” He sighs, briefly shutting his eyes. “Now that I think about it, though…it _is_ big. In case you were wondering.”

“Er, no offense, but I know.” Yuugi gives him a weak smile. “This is not remotely the first time you’ve told me.”

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**This isn’t a big plan. I got distracted by you showing up.**

“Well. It’s relevant.”

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**if you had mentioned any of this, it’s extremely likely i would have been less annoyed about the annoying things you do due to being pleased with you in the first place.**

“Did you tell _him_ it’s big? Hey, weigh in on the virgin vs slut debate, it’s been raging for _years_ about him. I will not post it online.” Yes, his fingers are crossed behind his back.

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**Why would I tell you about something I didn’t finish? Not relevant. My world doesn’t revolve around pleasing you.**

“We were arguing when it was present, I didn’t have a chance to compliment it. Virgin. Don’t post that online.” 

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**you could have told me that you went to egypt, dug up the puzzle, and were LOOKING FOR ME. i would have been HAPPY TO HEAR THIS.**

“Wait, _his_ is big? I thought you meant _yours_ , that’s the one you’ve told me about before!”

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**Tell Mutou to keep his mouth shut.**

“Yes! _His_ is big! Look at him,” Atem exasperatedly says, glancing up from the phone for a moment. “It has to be big. You know it has to be, even without me telling you.” 

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**you will speak kindly about him or not at all.**

**_Sighing Cat Sticker.gif_ **

**it makes me happy to know you were looking for me, kaiba.**

“Ehhh…I mean, he’s _tall_ , but you’re the one who told me that doesn’t always correlate…”

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**Hmph.**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**Grumpy Cat Sticker.gif**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**It was just as possible that you would have resented me for intruding into your death.**

“Of course it doesn’t, but with him, you can just _tell_ it’s big,” Atem insistently says. “It’s the way he stands.” 

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**no. it was not.**

**you vastly underestimate how much time i’d rather be spending with you.**

“You never taught me how to tell by the way someone stands! Is it—is it the way he leans back, or something?”

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**Then come back.**

“Kind of. It’s the way he always has to keep his thighs slightly apart.” 

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**are we going to have another argument like that tonight? because if so, no.**

“…Huh. Then how come you’re always crossing your legs?”

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**If you’re a bastard to me I’ll argue with you.**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**You can’t just tell me to behave myself like you’re my teacher.**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**Do you want to duel tonight**

“Because my legs are long, proportionately, and get in the way.”

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**i’m not telling you to behave yourself, i’m just saying it would be nice to not argue again tonight. that’s all. please. i’m asking nicely.**

**yes. yes i would.**

“O-ohh. All right.”

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**Are you done there i’ll send a car do you want to duel at my house or somewhere fun** ****

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**give me an hour so i can rebuild my deck properly.**

**fun. fun is good.**

“He’s being good again,” Atem says without further explanation, and idly sets about sorting through the cards on the table. “I’m going to duel him.”

“Ooh, fun! Want an audience?”

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**No god cards. You need to borrow anything?**

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**rude. osiris will be sad. but fine. no, i should have everything here.**

**yuugi wants to watch. thoughts?** ****

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**You can use the god cards if you want i’m not scared of them**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**Just seems like something someone who’s scared would do**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**I like an audience.**

**To: Kaiba Seto**

**all right. then give me that hour.**

“I’d love an audience,” Atem says with a faint smile, automatically in a better mood as he pushes the phone back to Yuugi. “Help me put my old deck together, minus god cards. I want to make him screech.”

“You _have_ to beat him,” Yuugi says fervently. “I mean, you will, because you’re _you_ , but I _really_ want to watch him lose today! You can borrow anything from me you want—or even from the store, Grandpa would be happy to know he helped you beat Kaiba.”

“Thank you, partner. I always win, though,” Atem brightly says. “This will be fun. Make sure to look at him properly this time, you _will_ be able to tell that it’s big.” 

“But _partner_ ,” Yuugi protests, pressing a hand to his face. “Now I won’t be able to look at anything else! This is embarrassing in advance!”

“Only if you let it embarrass you,” Atem hums, neatly stacking cards. “I think it’s perfectly natural to be interested. He’s tall.” 

“…He’s definitely tall,” Yuugi admits with a sigh. “See if you can get him to come to Game Night on Monday, by the way.”

“I’ll try. It would be good to try and socialize him properly. And while we’re at it, if I’m _going_ to be sticking around…I’m raiding your closet.” 

“Yeah! Take whatever you need!” Yuugi opens the closet door, vastly less organized than Kaiba’s closet, with a piled mound of laundry on the floor, and a piled mound of clean laundry on the other side. “Pants are near the bottom…”

“Just like I remember it,” Atem fondly says, and gets to digging, entirely unconcerned about the mess. “You remember my deck, can you doublecheck I have everything?”

“It’s not going to be hard,” Yuugi says softly, opening a drawer and pulling out a small box. “I haven’t touched it since you…left.”

“…No small wonder I was brought back here, between you _and_ Kaiba,” Atem says with a quiet laugh, shaking out his hair after tugging on a sleeveless shirt. “There’s still too much of me floating around.” 

“Partner…no offense…but isn’t that exactly what your people believed? That you should leave a whole lot of stuff behind so that you have it when you come back? Isn’t that what the pyramids are?”

“We’re talking about two different things. _Finished_ things are different than unfinished card decks and unresolved tension between reincarnated lovers. And that is unfinished,” Atem says, holding out his hand for the box. “Because it needs slight editing before I deal with a Kaiba that has had a year to analyze our past duels.” 

“That’s really gay,” Yuugi says solemnly, handing it over. “He likes to tell me about how he’s doing it.”

“…As much as I want to hear about that, tell me nothing. I want to be surprised.” 

Yuugi grins, watching Atem start to pick out clothing. “You’re getting excited, huh?”

“Heh. I’ve been _extremely_ bored.” 

“…If you guys do wind up going on a real date, you have to tell me exactly how perverted he is. You know, for a virgin.”

“He has six thousand Blue Eyes White Dragon dildos, and the soul of Priest Seth. He’s extremely perverted. He _has_ to be.” 

“Is Priest Seth a total pervert?” Yuugi’s eye widen. “Is…is _Black Magician_ a total pervert?”

“We’re opening up a whole new chapter if you want _that_ knowledge.” 

“But Black Magician is my trusted friend and ally! I have the right to know!”

“Yes, Yuugi. Yes. He is, when put to the task.”

“…I _knew_ it.”


	7. Chapter 7

The winds rip through the desert, stirring a sandstorm for the ages and laying waste to all those that would dare step out into it.

The cold, stone walls of the tomb do little do muffle the noise that has been raging for hours. Being stuck inside of a freshly raided tomb isn’t an ideal, especially when the chance of being caught grows with every passing moment, but it’s highly doubtful anyone would brave this storm to come after him. 

…At least, that’s the thought process that crosses through his mind before Bakura, the Thief King, remembers that this isn’t what it seems. 

“Fuuuuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as he sinks back against the cold, slimy wall of the tomb’s entryway. Here he is again, for the countless, umpteenth time—which means the ritual Malik had tried _didn’t_ hold. Digging their way through the Black Pyramid had yielded results, or so he’d thought; a secret wall panel leading to the _real_ tomb, and within it, the carvings of spellwork long lost. 

Spellwork long lost only goes so far if it doesn’t yield results, however. Bakura’s pale, violet eyes slide open again as he breathes in deep, and tries to focus through the welling dread that makes his pulse thud and his heart sink. 

Damn. Damn, damn, _damn_. 

The sounds of the storm slowly fade, and he mechanically goes through the motions of collecting his loot, grunting as he yanks it over his shoulder. “Can’t believe I’d rather have that shitty, tiny ass body back,” he mutters to himself, throwing his full weight against the door to open it again, heaving the enormous, heavy thing open and to the side, revealing the strangely calm desert beyond. 

As per usual, his men are gone, abandoning him in favor of finding shelter from the storm. He whistles into the night air—once, then twice, waiting for the impending hoof falls of his horse as he stares into the distance, then squints, catching sight of something…odd, on the horizon. 

But nothing is odd here anymore. Nothing is different. _Nothing_ has changed, no matter how many times he’s relived this hell, again and again. 

“…What _now_ ,” he mutters, standing still until his horse arrives, snorting and wind-swept, knots in his mane. Bakura throws the sack over his horse’s back, tying it in place, then climbs up as well, kicking it forward and over the desert sand to what looks like—

A person? A body?

Not just that, but—

“…What the fuck,” Bakura whispers as he yanks his horse to a screeching halt, staring wide-eyed down at the crumpled body of Malik Ishtar in the desert sands.

The first thing that sinks in for Malik is the heat.

No matter how long it’s been, he can’t forget that feeling. No one who’s ever been caught outside in the baking heat of an Egyptian day in the desert could ever forget the particular way the heat sinks into the sand all day, only to be sharply contrasted with the sudden chill of the night. The sand beneath him—that’s familiar, too, and he coughs, blinking bleary eyes around, his arm aching from the blood he’d spilled again, only for the spell to…

To…

He looks around wildly, about to call out when he catches sight of a big dark figure on horseback, and jumps up to his feet all at once, grabbing for a gun that he realizes in a horrible second isn’t there. “Stay away,” he warns in Arabic, settling into a fighter’s crouch, trying desperately to figure out what’s gone wrong, and where he’s gone.

Bakura’s eyebrows tick up in amusement, in spite of the ridiculousness—stress? anxiety? fucking whatever—of the situation. Actually, this is a good chance to fuck with Malik a little bit, because at the end of the day, he can’t help himself, and he’s probably destined to keep suffering forever anyway, so why not enjoy himself for a hot minute? 

“Take it easy there,” he drawls, sliding off of his horse and giving the dark grey animal’s neck an absent pat before he steps away, deep red robe fluttering behind him with the occasional, lingering gust of wind. It _does_ feel good to be in this body, which is the only good thing about this personal hell. He’s taller, broader, so _much_ stronger—just as skinny, but that’s not the fucking point. Even if this all goes to shit, at least Malik gets to see him properly for once in his life. Bakura cocks his head, lips curling slowly. “Aren’t _you_ pretty.”

Malik’s eyes widen, his breath catching in his throat. He switches languages, matching the one being purred at him, instantly skeptical. “Bakura?” he asks, incredulous. “It’s me, Malik.”

“…Shit. Fuck you, you realized that fast?” Bakura demands, folding his arms over his bare chest, scowling down at him. “Damn it. I wanted to fuck with you a little more!” 

“You—what?” Malik’s eyes are wide, a little bit frantic as he looks around. “Of course I realized it! You look the same, just dark and ripped like you said! Where the fuck are we? The sky looks…wrong.” 

“Fuck you, I am so _much_ hotter,” Bakura complains, dropping his hands to his hips. “Yeah, welcome to Kemet, exactly three days before the fucking palace guard catches up to me, and puts me in chains the one and only time in my life.” He gestures broadly with one hand. “The bullshit I get to relive again and again in my Afterlife, as the worst _possible_ punishment.”

Malik’s heart sinks, and he sits down hard on the sand, mouth falling open. “Oh…I fucked up so hard,” he mutters. “Ishizu is going to _kill_ me.”

“Realistically, if it’s anything like that other spell, you’ll get launched back,” Bakura says with a dismissive shrug, looking off into the vast expanse of the desert. “Just like I did. You just have to deal with this shit for three days, so that’s gonna be real fun for you.” 

Malik processes that for a moment, thinking, then suggests, “You could have pretended you didn’t know who I was.”

“I was trying to! You’re the one who immediately decided to recognize me, like a fantasy-ruining bitch.” 

“I’m not the fantasy-ruining bitch,” Malik whines, folding his hands over his chest. “I didn’t know I was supposed to be playing along with shit! I don’t know where I am! Here, go ride over there and come back again.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Bakura exasperatedly says. “We don’t have _time_. My men are gonna be circling back to catch up with me pretty soon here—like fuck I’m leaving you in the middle of the desert alone for even a second.” He scowls and yanks off his robe, tossing it to Malik and leaving himself only in his shendyt. “Wrap yourself up in that and do everything I say from here on out. My guess is we’re going to get plenty of fun roleplay out of this even if you fucked up the first stage.” 

“I didn’t fuck up!” Malik tugs the robe on as he protests, an air of anxiety starting to shoot through him. “What happens next? It’s a loop?”

“Yeah, it’s a loop,” Bakura mutters, tugging the hood over Malik’s face before turning back to his horse, who regards Malik with a suspicious snort. “Well, I’m going to catch up with all of my men and we’re going to have a party with all the cool shit straight from a fancy tomb that I stole. You’re gonna be part of that now.”

“…This is your hell? The death hole?” Malik asks doubtfully. “It sounds kinda fun, so far…”

“Yeah. Try having it all snatched away, again and again and again _._ ” Bakura sets his jaw, then hauls himself up onto his horse, snatching up the reins one-handedly before leaning down to offer Malik his hand. “Come here, pretty boy.” 

Well, Bakura had trusted him to drive the motorcycle. Malik grins, and takes that strong, calloused hand, letting himself be lifted up onto the horse. “Okay,” he admits, snuggling up against Bakura. “You’re really hot like this. You were right.”

“Heh. Damn right I am.” Bakura grins, shooting Malik a searing look over his shoulder. “Hold on tight. And I mean it—don’t _fucking_ talk to anyone, and do everything I say. Otherwise, you’re fresh meat and you won’t like it.” 

With that, he kicks his horse forward and takes off at a full gallop across the desert sands, until he catches sight of what he’s been expecting—the good dozen or so men on horses, returning his whistle the moment he’s in their sights as well.  “Yo, boss!” one of the cloaked figures calls, obviously older, with dark skin weathered from years of being in the elements. “What _else_ did you find?”

“Nothing _you_ want,” Bakura snorts, yanking his horse to a stop so swiftly that it half-rears. Apparently, Malik is accepted as easily as everything else in this stupid replay, which he’s not sure is a good thing or not. “Everyone knows you like little girls.”

“We can’t go to the same place tonight, boss,” another man chimes in, his horse fidgeting underneath him. “The palace guards are out thick on the Nile.”

“Fucking _why?_ ” Bakura exasperatedly says, rolling his eyes. “Paranoid that shitty kid’s gonna kick the bucket, too? Give me five fucking minutes with him, I swear…” He exhales through his teeth. “Fine. The other one we talked about, then. Follow me.” 

The eventual campsite is situated several miles down from the caverns he’d found the night before, and the sandy ground deep and annoyingly dusty, unlike the almost soggy, slimy mess they’d slept on the night before. Finally, Bakura yanks his horse to a stop as his men do the same, and reaches down to give Malik’s hands a silent tap for him to let go. “Yo, Qadir. Throw me that fucking rope.” 

He catches it, and slides off the horse then, yanking Malik off with him without ceremony. “Glad to see you’ve still got the brains to behave,” he casually says, lashing his wrists together. The knots are absolutely for show—two seconds of Malik testing them would make that clear—because like _fuck_ Bakura wants him defenseless. Not here. Not now. He tosses the rope around his horses’s neck, tying that as well to ‘secure’ Malik in place. “Wait patiently,” he lowly says, and unfastens his loot from his horse’s back, striding off into the camp that is in the process of being set up. “You’re all fucking welcome, someone put my tent up for me!”

“Hannu, lazy donkey’s cunt,” another man jeers, kicking one of their comrades in the knee. “You’re the one who almost got us killed by the pharaoh’s men, _you_ put up the tent.”

The man Hannu scrambles to do as he’s told, looping the top anchor around the lowest branch of a Cypress tree, one of the few growing this far from the Nile. The tent goes up in just a moment, Hannu tying the knots deftly. “Boss, was there any meat?” he asks hopefully, tossing Bakura’s bedroll into the tent. 

“Oh,” says another man, Kheti, his eyes landing on Malik. “Looks like there was fresh meat, all right.”

Malik keeps his jaw clenched, apprehension making his skin prickle. _Just three days, it’s only three days, he lives through this every time and it’s only three days_ , he reminds himself, steadfastly ignoring the fact that he has no idea if it will, in fact, be only three days. It’s never felt dangerous before, that he doesn’t have that darker side of himself to slip into, to let take over for him when things are just too much. Sure, it’s been gone for a year, but if something bad happens and Rishid isn’t here, who knows?

“Oh yeah, ‘cause I definitely had time to slaughter a cow in a sandstorm,” Bakura irritably snaps, dumping out his rather ample get and briskly parsing through it with disinterest. He spins out a dagger from it, tossing it over in his hand before he walks away, waving a hand. “Divvy it up, I don’t give a shit about the rest. If you fucking _bother_ me tonight for anything less than the shitty Pharaoh himself showing up to kill me—“ He points his newly acquired dagger at the rest of them. “I’ll cut your balls off. Got it?” 

Another man, Juda, merely snorts as he finishes hobbling his horse, clearly amused. “Shit, how pretty is she?”

Bakura laughs as he strides back over to his horse, grabbing it by the reins to haul it over to his tent, Malik in tow. “None of your _fucking_ business,” he sweetly says, unlashing the rope from his horse’s neck. 

“Bullshit! C’mon boss, you never bring ‘em back with you!” 

_Don’t say that, Malik doesn’t need to have his ego stroked_ , Bakura exasperatedly thinks, scowling as he whips a glare back towards his men. Then, he grabs the hood he’d pulled over Malik’s head, brusquely yanking it down. “I’ll warn you all again,” he sharply says. “Don’t _fucking_ bother me tonight.” 

“C’mon, boss,” Kheti protests, lingering a bit too close for comfort, attempting to peer into Malik’s hood. “Let us watch, at least. Fuck, it’s been two months since I had a bitch.”

“Bullshit, I saw you with Nebit’s goat last week!”

The two men bare their teeth at each other, hands dropping to knives.

So low only Bakura could hear, Malik whispers, “Should I do something?”

“No,” Bakura says underneath his breath, and then snorts, shoving Malik the rest of the way into his tent. “Fuck off,” he cheerfully calls over his shoulder before disappearing inside, crooking another finger for his horse.

The animal snorts tiredly, and as Bakura disappears into the tent, it follows, fitting there surprisingly neatly. It lingers at the doorway, then drops down as if this is fairly standard, laying down into the sand. “They’ll start fighting over the shit soon enough, and forget about this,” Bakura says lowly, kicking out his bedroll. “I left enough gold in the mix on purpose.” His eyes slide to Malik more directly now that they’re in relative private. “You all right?”

Malik smiles, shrugging off the rope as if it were tied by a child, pushing back his hood. “I just didn’t expect them all to seem so…human. Are they all in your head? Or are they the real people? Do they know they’re in a loop?”

Bakura shakes his head, collapsing down to the ground with a relieved sigh to be off of his feet. “This all already happened so many fucking times. Even with you here, there’s not _that_ much that is happening differently…just when they notice you. So…no, they don’t know they’re in a loop, because I guess they’re all in my head. They were all real people, once.” He shrugs, staring up at the ceiling of his tent. “They’re all dead by the end of this. That’s how bad I fuck up.” 

“So you know this timeline pretty well.” Malik looks at the tent flap, then back to Bakura. “So how long have we got here before someone bothers us?”

“Twenty minutes, tops.” Bakura raises an eyebrow. “Maybe less. Muscat’ll bite ‘em if they try to come in, but even that’s not foolproof.”

“Aw. So much for the bandit king and captive prize roleplay.” Malik folds his arms over his chest, then nods at the sack. “You want to give me a knife, or something? My guns didn’t come with me.”

“Heh. You think I’m gonna let that stop our roleplay?” Bakura flicks out the knife he’d already pulled from his fresh loot, handing it to Malik handle-first. “Don’t let them know you have that unless it’s life or death. Also, strip, you look way too fucking fancy right now. You can hang onto my robe, though.” 

Malik grins, and strips off the robe, plunging the knife into the sand as he takes off the rest of his clothes. “Ah…best not let anyone see my back,” he says with a grimace, as his shirt hits the floor, followed by his cargo pants. The boots he tugs back on—fuck sand—and then the robe, draped red around his shoulders, revealing a good chunk of his chest where it hangs open, even as he tries to close it with a bit of rope to keep his lower body hidden. “Better? I think?”

“Better,” Bakura confirms, his eyes sliding to Malik’s chest. “Your nipples are _so_ distracting. Give me your earrings, too, they’re gold and they’re going to flip out if I’ve let you keep them,” he wryly says, holding out his hand. “If they see your back, they’re gonna have _questions_. The fewer I have to answer, the better. You’re already too pretty.” 

“It’s an ancient secret passed down in our suffering for five thousand years,” Malik mutters, pulling out his earrings and handing them over reluctantly. “I feel like it would cause kind of a stir…how many of them can read hieroglyphs?” He looks down at his chest, nibbling at his lip. “Should I take them out, too? They’re such a bitch to get back in.”

“Not that many, but it doesn’t matter. It _looks_ fancy, that’s gonna do it.” Bakura leans over towards his horse, tucking the earrings away into a pouch attached to the saddle blanket for safekeeping. “Don’t take them out. If they get close enough to notice them, I’ll have stabbed them already.” He leans back onto one hand, staring up at Malik. “Come sit in my lap, for fuck’s sake.” 

Malik moves immediately, coming to rest his hands on Bakura’s powerful shoulders. “To the side?” he asks, running the tip of his tongue over his lip, looking down at Bakura’s lap. “Or facing away? Or straddling you? I’m your prize, right?”

“…Straddle me, I’m enjoying myself,” Bakura mutters, his eyes lidded. “Even if we’re interrupted, I’m going to _need_ to get my cock in you. Pretty sure we pissed off a god and that’s why you’re here, but you know what, fuck it.” 

Malik nods eagerly, straddling Bakura’s muscular thighs, his hands still resting on Bakura’s shoulders, feeling the thick corded muscle there. “I know I should be really afraid for my life,” he admits, “but I’m _really_ hard, and you look so hot like this…I’m a man, you know?”

“Yeah.” Bakura grins, reaching down to unfasten the wrap around his hips, and then yanks Malik deeper into his lap with a strong arm around his waist. “But tonight, you’re my bitch. Go on, reach a hand down and touch it.” 

Malik’s teeth set to his lip, trying to bite back a whimper. He reaches down, running his fingers up the inside of Bakura’s thigh beneath his shendyt, cupping and stroking as his eyes widen, lips parting in surprise. “Oh, shit, it’s huge,” he whispers. “I mean, yes, lord, please don’t hurt me, I’ll be good.”

“Told you,” Bakura gloats around the hitch in his breath, his eyes lidding as Malik’s touch makes his cock swell even further, twitching underneath his palm. “Damn right you’ll be good,” he breathes, his hand sliding up to grip Malik’s face, roughly dragging him in closer until Bakura’s breath is hot against his cheeks. “You should be _grateful_ that I wanted to keep you and stuff you full of my cock.” 

Malik squirms against Bakura’s hands, even as his own cock is so hard it makes him giddy. His hand squeezes around that thick cock, and as Bakura had promised, his fingers don’t quite touch. His gulp isn’t entirely feigned, and he whispers, “Please, lord, it’ll hurt, let me please you with my hands and mouth, don’t disgrace me like that, what would my family think?” _Oh, shit, this would actually be a cool backstory for my DnD character_ , he thinks, and then pushes that away as _really_ unimportant right now.

Bakura breathes out a low, rumbling laugh, his thumb dragging over that full lower lower lip as his eyes bore directly into Malik’s. “You think I give a shit about your family?” he lowly asks. “You’re mine now.” His eyes slide away, and he grumbles as he leans to the side, snatching another, smaller pouch off the side of his horse, who barely flicks an ear at him. “You should be _so_ grateful,” he quietly says, emptying the pouch out and picking out a gleaming, corked bottle of what appears to be oil, “that I think you’re pretty, and I want to keep fucking you later.” 

Malik’s arousal burns so hot at those words he almost feels dizzy, and he looks away, trying to catch his breath. Bakura is good at this—obviously, with as much as he’s pretended to be different people, he’d have to be, wouldn’t he? _I can’t lose to him_ , Malik decides, and shoves at Bakura’s chest. “My lord, no, I couldn’t, I’ll be soiled forever, please let me go!”

Bakura snorts, amused, and roughly grabs one of Malik’s wrists, squeezing tightly enough to get his attention. “Would you rather I shove it in you without making your cunt nice and wet?” he purrs, leaning in close to Malik’s ear. “I’ll show you what it feels like to be _soiled forever_ , you little slut. Instead of begging for me to stop, start begging for me to make it good.” 

The flush that springs to Malik’s face this time isn’t entirely feigned, as he squirms in Bakura’s arms. “You say such— _vulgar_ things,” he gasps, his thighs trembling around Bakura’s waist, feeling his cock rub against the parted robe when Bakura’s words go right through him, like wine on an empty stomach. “I’m not your woman!”

“Whiny,” Bakura grunts, dismissively shoving Malik onto his back, flat onto his bedroll. He pins Malik easily with one hand on his throat, holding him down as he uncorks the bottle with his teeth. “You’re _about_ to be my woman,” he casually says as he pulls his cock out, tipping out the oil over it. “I’m going to stuff this in you, and come in you until your shitty family’s never going to want you. Then you’ll be begging to be my bitch for the rest of your life.” His eyes lock with Malik’s. “Keep fighting, and everyone out there will get a turn, too.” 

“It’s too big,” Malik breathes around the hand on his throat, his eyes wide, dipping down to ogle that massive thick cock hanging between Bakura’s thighs, looking as if the shendyt couldn’t possibly cover it when erect. “Nnh, please, my lord, it’ll split me in two—I’ll be good, just…keep me for yourself, don’t let them pass me around from man to man, all of them taking turns…” Whoops, might have gone into too much detail, but Bakura surely can’t blame him when he’s so hard that his hole aches, feeling almost painfully empty. _Fuck, I really am turning into an addict for his cock._

“We’ll see how you feel about that after you have it once,” Bakura says underneath his breath, dragging his own hand down over his cock, slicking it even further. Even just touching it himself makes his breath hitch, what with how hard he is. Impending death and doom aside, a chance to fuck Malik like this?

Fuck _yes_. 

“Spread these more,” he mutters, kicking Malik’s thighs apart further as he settles between them. Bakura releases Malik’s throat to grab him instead by the hip, pulling him where he wants him, and guiding the thick head of his cock to his hole. “Breathe,” he warns, the only thing he offers that’s vaguely out of character before he pushes forward, his grip on Malik’s hip vicetight to not let him wriggle away, forcing his cock inside until the head sinks in, stretching Malik wide.

Malik lets out a squeak, hands grabbing frantically at anything, winding up full of sand as he’s slowly split open, his eyes wide, casting wildly around the room. His chest heaves, nipples so hard the rings stand up, his legs squirming to part even farther as if that will make the stretch somehow easier. It doesn’t. Nothing helps, and he whimpers, tears pricking at his eyes as he’s filled. “Fuck,” he whispers, blinking rapidly. “Fuck, you’re so big—“ A bit of that pain twists in his gut, a dark enjoyment coming from it that Malik doesn’t quite understand, and when the fat head of that cock shoves past his prostate, Malik’s vision whites out for a heartbeat. 

“Told you,” Bakura breathes out raggedly, pausing half-way to tip the rest of the oil over his cock before dropping the bottle without care, and gripping Malik’s hips in both hands as he shoves in with a grunt of effort. Skin doesn’t quite slap skin, but that’s fine—Malik is _so_ tight around his cock that his own vision blurs, and Bakura bends forward with a groan, mouthing over Malik’s throat, biting his shoulder with sharp teeth. “Mine now,” he purrs, dragging a hand up to Malik’s chest, hooking a finger into one of his nipple rings. “Go on, squirm. It’s not gonna get any easier, so you might as well love it.” 

The threads of who Malik is supposed to be fall away, leaving him writhing, keening beneath Bakura’s powerful form and thick cock, hands coming up to cling needily at Bakura’s shoulders. 

It’s never felt quite so dark between them before, the vague thought echoes in his mind, as pain and pleasure mix in his belly, making him shiver and clench and spill even as he flinches, and that darkness steals through him, bringing desires he hasn’t quite managed to acknowledge before, called out by the Thief King fucking him into the banks of the Nile. “Hurt me,” he hears himself beg, eyes rolling back into his head.

Bakura’s eyes flick up, briefly looking at Malik’s face to make sure, for just a second more, before he gives in with a ragged, eager growl. 

His hands are far from gentle as he grabs at Malik’s sides, dragging him into the thrusts of his hips as he fucks in, claiming his prize as thoroughly as he wants in spite of the way Malik twitches and squirms and thrashes. Every shivery, wriggly bit of resistance seems to fall further away each time his cock sinks in deep, splitting Malik open, letting him take what he wants, as if Malik really _is_ some fancy tombkeeper he’d stolen away on a whim because he wanted something pretty to shove his cock in. 

Bakura’s teeth are sharp on his neck and shoulders, biting and sucking, not even noticing the marks he leaves behind. Finally, finally, his cock pulses hard, and Bakura buries himself with a low groan, teeth gritted as he spills deep inside of Malik, hands bruising in how tightly he holds him. “Fuck,” he pants out, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, a long, lingering shudder making him squeeze his eyes shut.

Malik sort of feels as if he’d been caught in an ocean wave, then dashed onto the nearby rocks. He sucks in a breath, mindlessly grabbing for Bakura, his body shaking, sated, more satisfied than he can ever remember being, the pain dragging a deeper, rounder, fuller pleasure out of him than he can remember feeling, and he feels a shiver ripple through his entire body. “Oh, fuck,” he agrees weakly. “You’re so fucking big, what are you trying to do, knock me up?”

Bakura grunts at that. “Yeah,” he volunteers without skipping a beat. “Why not? You’re so fucking tight, that was barely half of it in you, _just_ so you know.” His arm wobbles as he plants his hand into the sand, forcing himself to lean on that so he doesn’t collapse onto Malik. “That was worth eternal suffering.” 

“…Don’t say shit like that, it makes me want to suck on your tongue for a year,” Malik mutters, dragging his hand over his face, wiping away the sweat. “Oh my god, my ass is going to be _ruined_ after this, what does it look like?”

“You’d be surprised, assholes are _surprisingly_ resilient,” Bakura says without any concern. “Hold onto me, I’m gonna pull out. Niiice and slow, try not to screech.” 

Malik grips onto Bakura with one hand, and stuffs the other one into his mouth, muffling a grunt as Bakura slides out of him. He lays back onto the bedroll, and murmurs, “At least when my father was making me scream, he had the decency to gag me first,” the first time he’s ever come close to joking about the incident.

Bakura blinks down at him, then barks out a laugh. “Roll over, pretty boy,” he says carelessly, grabbing Malik’s hips with surprising care to flip him. “Let’s not get come on my nice robe, I stole that from a politician. You look fine.” He leans over Malik, purring in his ear. “It’s _almost_ like I know how to fuck someone without tearing them to shreds unless I want to.” 

Malik lets out another little sound as he’s flipped, then flops down to the sand, gurgling a bit as his thighs completely give out. “Pet me,” he demands. “Just for a minute. Until I remember how to breathe.”

Bakura rubs his fingers back through Malik’s hair, ruffling it the wrong way, then back again. He cracks his own neck, rubbing out the stiffness there as he keeps his eyes trained on the front of his tent, never mind his dozing horse blocking it. “You’re fine. For the record, fun to talk about letting these idiots have you, but not so fun in practice.” 

“If you do that, I’ll kill you,” Malik agrees, nestling back against Bakura’s solid body. “Like, hot? But, _ew_. Anonymous sex always sounds hot, but…again, in practice, ew.”

“Prissy slut,” Bakura mutters, not unfondly. “But…yeah, ‘ew’ isn’t the word I’d use, but it’s not happening. We’re not running with a glamorous crowd here. Your cooperation is appreciated.” 

“I didn’t really look at them,” Malik admits. “I was only looking at you.”

Bakura’s stomach does a weird, flippy thing, and he scowls, pulling the hood of his robe over Malik’s face again. “Good. I’m hot.” 

“Yeah, you—hey, I’m pretty! don’t cover my face!”

“You’re too pretty, it’s pissing me off.” 

“Wow. Wow!”

“Take the compliment,” Bakura murmurs, and he pushes himself up and away from Malik, yanking his shendyt back into place. “Stay curled up there, quiet.” 

“Yoooo, you done yet, boss?” comes the raucous call just outside of his tent. The front yanks open, and his horse pins his ears, snapping bared teeth in an instant. “What the fuck, Muscat!”

“ _He_ remembers how to follow directions,” Bakura drawls from where he sprawls. “The fuck do you want? I’m basking.” 

“There’s word of the royal militia being on the move still.” 

The words still make an annoying pit of dread form in his stomach, no matter how many times he’s heard them. “Yeah? Then put up an extra guard tonight. I need my beauty sleep.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

“Be ready to move at sunrise,” Bakura adds, tossing that out over his shoulder as he flap closes again, and he sighs, collapsing back down onto the bed roll with a huff. “For the record, it doesn’t matter if I try to move differently,” he dryly tells Malik. “It cycles through no matter what I say or do, and ends the same. So fun.”

“Like if we took off right now?” Malik suggests, propping his weight up on his elbows. “I mean, I’m here, so what if things are different? Ha ha, fuck, am I dead?” The idea should _really_ hold a lot more fear for him, Malik thinks, but being on the verge of death isn’t quite the same thing as possibly already being dead.

“No more dead than I’m alive when you summoned me back to your basement, I’d imagine,” Bakura says with a sigh, folding his arms back behind his head. “I’ve tried to take off. It just catches back up, eventually.”

Malik cuddles up to him, steadfastly ignoring the way his mind protests that he shouldn’t get too close, too comfortable, too reliant on someone who won’t be there afterwards. “Maybe I really pissed Ma’at off by summoning you,” he suggests, “and now you have a companion in your torment, at least? Man, when they say to perform the spell on the first of Flood, they _really mean_ it, huh?”

Bakura’s eyes slide sideways to look at him, then he shifts with a grumble of effort, slinging an arm around him to drag Malik firmly into his chest. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d want to do that—just to prove his chest is more than ample enough to be used as a pillow—for _awhile_. “Did you…perform it some other time? Like a real idiot?”

“You _know_ I did,” Malik grumbles. “I told you a bunch of times, I first summoned you on the first of Flood, it’s the moment when time flows like the Nile and the spirits are closest. But you were so impatient for me to try the hidden spell…I guess the first of Winter isn’t close enough. But I didn’t want to wait another year!”

“I probably would’ve fucking killed myself,” Bakura deadpans. “You know. If I could. Which I can’t, because I’m already dead, but fuck, I would want to do it harder. Reliving this shit for that long again…yeah, I want to vomit thinking about it.” His eyes narrow. “Maybe, though…if you’re here, maybe that’ll help this whole mess out in the long run.” 

“Yeah?” Malik’s hands curl against Bakura’s shoulders, then shift up into his hair. “My occult specialty is pretty narrow, like I said, but…I’m willing to learn. I swear, I’ll figure it out.” This, probably, is not what his therapist would call a healthy coping mechanism.

“Remember how I said I probably need some kind of spiritual grounding in the world of the living again?” Bakura’s eyes slide up to catch Malik’s, even as he remains unmoving, letting him touch however he likes. “You’re here, in this loop, and you don’t seem to be changing anything about it. When you get sent back—because it’s when, not if—maybe you should try to take something with you.” 

Malik thinks for a moment, then nods. “Give me a coin, one of your jewels or something. Something small. Gold works best for spells, that’s one reason I wear so much. Best conductor.”

Bakura shifts, and twists off one of the gold rings on his fingers, which slides off quite easily, given how spindly they actually are. “Here. We both know the other reason is because you’re a vain slut.” 

“I was _going_ to say that also, they’re heirlooms? Fucker.” Malik looks down at his arm, where bracelets usually dangle, covering the scars of his past attempts to work this spell, and grimaces, handing Bakura the knife. “Put it in. Don’t want to risk it getting left behind. But I don’t want to watch.”

Bakura’s eyebrows tick up in surprise, then approval, and he swiftly shifts, burying the knife next to Malik’s head as he leans over him for a hard kiss. “We’ve got at least a day before I need to, so I’ll hold off,” he murmurs, flicking the ring back onto his finger. “Save yourself a day of pain.” 

The kiss is a welcome surprise when he’d been expecting pain, and Malik leans into it, nodding. “I mean, I guess I could just swallow it,” he says, a bit too late. “On second thought, that does sound easier, even if it’s eventually…grosser.”

“You would hate it so much more. Truuuust me.” 

“Have you…swallowed jewelry before?” Malik asks, curious in spite of himself. “Mm…try to keep my earrings, when I go. Maybe it’ll ground you.” Maybe he just wants Bakura to have something of his in the death hole.

“I’ve swallowed way too many things that I shouldn’t have,” Bakura sweetly offers, twisting back onto his side. “I’ll try to hold onto them. Don’t yell at me if they’re lost forever in the death hole, though.” 

“It’s fine.” Malik kisses Bakura, sucking softly on his bottom lip. “You can steal me a new pair when I figure out how to save you.”

“…Careful,” Bakura lowly says, smoothing a hand back over Malik’s hair and down the top of his back. “Or you’ll end up _very_ decorated at this rate.” 

“Oh, no, and I’m usually such a plain and ordinary looking person.”

“It’s all very likely to be cursed.” 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that not all jewelry is cursed.”

“If I steal it, it’s gonna be.” 

“Don’t curse it! Easy enough! Hey, you think I’m enough of a priest to purify that shit?”

“You could try,” Bakura says around a yawn, his eyes slitting. “You should get fancy enough to try.” 

“Ehhh, you _really_ want me to turn into a proper priest?” Malik teases, poking Bakura’s leg with one foot. “Then I’d probably have to banish you, or something.”

“There are plenty of proper priests that use their powers for nefarious purposes,” Bakura says with a slow grin. “And plenty of proper priests that have tried to banish me, too. Didn’t work so well.”

Malik grins. “You know, if anyone else suggested that I get _more_ into ancient Egyptian occult lore after I finally got out, I’d tell them to go fuck themselves.”

“Yeah…but this is for your own gain, not for some shitty, prissy Pharaoh,” Bakura points out. He licks his lips, contemplative. “Wanna see something badass?” 

“Yes!” Malik sits up, though he has to bite his lip at the sudden soreness as he does, and the flush that springs to his face tells volumes. “I wanna see anything you want to show me. Heh, I’m living in Ishizu’s dream, she’s go crazy for all the history.”

“History’s whatever, the magic’s the good shit.” Bakura shoots him an amused look, and heaves himself up again, crawling over to his horse and yanking off the remaining saddle bags. “Here,” he says, tossing Malik over a water skin. “It’s booze, it’ll take the edge off.”

“I thought you wanted me to see something badass?” Malik asks, and takes a drink, his eyes widening. “Ooh, that’s good. Thanks, Tekhi.”

“Yeah. I do.” Bakura’s eyes glitter, and something shifts behind Malik. “You chill with snakes?” 

A low, quiet hissing follows those words, and a large, unusually white snake slithers its way out from behind Malik, as if it had been lurking in the back corner of his tent all along.

Malik’s eyes go wide, and he tenses, trying to keep still. “Um…I had kind of a…bad experience with one, once,” he says, voice shaky. His father had been so _angry_ , Rishid had been so upset, it had hurt so much, the venom coursing through his body, they’d never been allowed to play in that courtyard again, one more forbidden pleasure—

“Yeah? Well, tough shit. This one’s mine.” The snake winds its way across the sand, easily as big around as Bakura’s arm, and longer than he is tall by far. It turns its head, flicking out its tongue as it peers at Malik intently. “Diabound,” Bakura offers up, watching Malik’s reaction. “That’s his name. He won’t bite. Well. He won’t bite _you_.” 

Malik nods slowly, eyes not leaving the enormous creature. “Is there anything I shouldn’t do?” he asks carefully. “Like, sudden movements, or high-pitched noises?” 

“Nah. You can pet him. He’s like this, unless you’re the Pharaoh.” 

Malik gulps, and leans forward. What is there to be afraid of, anyway? He’s dead or something, sort of. “Hello, Diabound,” he says gently, offering the backs of his fingers, attempting to stroke the top of the beast’s head. “You’re…very huge.”

The snake’s tongue flicks out again, then again, then slowly, his head lowers, coming to rest next to Malik, surprisingly placid.

“He feels kinda cool, huh? Snakes are always softer than I think they’re gonna be,” Bakura muses, sprawling back out next to Malik. “He’s my _ka_. You’re fucking welcome that you get to see something that badass.”

“…I wonder what mine looks like,” Malik muses, stroking the snake’s head, his fear bleeding away. It’s hard to be afraid of a creature who’s so…cuddly. Privately, he thinks his own _ka_ is probably something horrible, some twisted, unlovable creature fit only to be sacrificed in the first round to call something better.

“We could try to find out,” Bakura says with a contemplative shrug. Diabound coils slowly, sliding forward against Malik’s hand to gradually drape himself over Malik’s legs, then rests his head on Bakura’s hip. “You definitely have to have one. The amount of spiritual power you throw around is obviously enough to piss off the gods, heh.” 

“Pretty sure they got out their anger on me starting with my birth,” Malik says, his voice soft, hand coming to rest on Bakura’s moonlight hair. “That’s…part of why I’m trying so hard to get you back. I don’t understand why I deserve to live, and you don’t.”

“…Because I tried to murder the Pharaoh on no less than ten occasions?” Bakura offers up wryly, though it doesn’t come out as mocking. “The gods frown on that, so I’ve heard.” 

“Oh, like I never tried to murder him,” Malik scoffs. “I strapped him to an anchor in the ocean, remember? Held his friends hostage, took over people’s minds and forced them to hurt each other…That wasn’t all my other side.”

“I guess. But you’re their super special secret vessel of knowledge, a walking wall carving.” The words are disgusted. “You don’t get to die so easily, even if you go for the kill.” 

“But that’s stupid!” Malik huffs. “This whole religion is fucking biased. If I didn’t have proof it was real, I’d quit believing.”

“Uh…yeah, of course it’s biased. The gods care about pharaohs and priests, and that’s about it.” Bakura sighs, leaning back heavily onto his elbows. “Which is why I just steal shit from them, because I’m not getting anything else in life. Anyway, I bet your _ka_ is a fluffy cat.” 

“Fuck you, it’s definitely some sort of…twisted, nasty monster,” Malik says, entirely certain. “Something you’d summon, and everyone would be like, ‘what the fuck, that’s gross, sacrifice it immediately, why would you summon something with so few points.’”

“Did you expect mine to be a snake? A really _cool_ snake?” 

“I didn’t really think about it…but it doesn’t sound _wrong_.”

“Then by that logic, a twisted, gross thing doesn’t sound right, and a fluffy cat does.”

Malik’s response dies in his mouth, and he turns over, burying his face in Bakura’s chest. “Shut up,” he says, with no real anger behind the words.

Bakura snorts and slings an arm around him, dragging him firmly into his chest as Diabound winds over their legs, a particularly odd, slithery blanket. “Get some sleep, pretty boy.” 

“I thought you said we only had twenty minutes,” Malik murmurs, snuggling up against Bakura’s oddly huge body, not protesting when Diabound makes himself known.

“Yeah. The fucker already came and went, and now we’ve got until sunrise…which isn’t _that_ far off, so sleep while you can.” 

Malik opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a snore, the stress of the day and athleticism of the sex making him feel boneless in the embrace of Bakura’s strong arms.


	8. Chapter 8

_What in the world is going_ on _?_

Atem’s pulse thuds heavily through his veins, his chest heaving where he stands in flickering torchlight, the familiar walls of his private chambers around him. Everything had happened so quickly, so quickly that he wasn’t even sure it was _real_ —

But it has to be. 

His hand nearly burns from where Kaiba had grabbed him, _just_ before he had disappeared again, and returned…here, in his all-too-familiar Afterlife. It isn’t like the first time—it’s worse. The first time, just as they’d started their duel, after Kaiba had sent a car for him, met him, opened a door for him in a way that had made Yuugi’s eyes bug out of his head—that’s when he’d disappeared, apropos of nothing. Whatever summoned him back to the living world had a time limit, no doubt, though Atem didn’t know what that was.

Now, it doesn’t make _any_ sense.

Appearing for twenty seconds in Kaiba’s bedroom makes no sense at all, only to be launched back here and leaving him shaken and whiplashed, wobbling on his feet.

“Pharaoh?” The words are urgent, concerned, coming from all around Atem. Three of his advisors, Seth, Mahad, and Isis, surround him, eyes narrowed, scanning the Afterlife as if searching for some threat. 

“There’s some powerful spell working on him,” Mahad says, summoning energy to his hands. “Seth, protect the Pharaoh from anything that would try to find him even now. Isis—“

“I know,” she says curtly, and sends her _ka_ into the air, scanning for threats. “What a cruel joke, that such things can happen even here.”

“Are you all right?” Seth’s voice is quiet, but worried, scanning Atem’s face.

“I’m…fine.” He is most certainly _not._ There’s nothing _fine_ about any of this. Kaiba, snatched away from him at the last second, again and again—how is he _ever_ supposed to resolve _any_ of that in any meaningful fashion?

Frustration wells up within him, and Atem turns away, uninterested in letting any of them see the angry, anxious flush that rises to his cheeks. “I’m really fine. Whatever it is…I don’t know, but I don’t want to deal with it right now. Leave me be, all of you.” Then he amends, “Not you, Seth.”

Seth, already in the process of standing, pauses as the others vacate the chamber, leaving the two of them alone. He waits, then reaches out a hand, cupping Atem’s face. “Was it him?” he asks quietly, crushing the worm of jealousy ruthlessly under his heel. He’s great at that. “Was he trying to raise you?”

“No.” Atem’s eyes flick up to hold Seth’s, his brow furrowed. “It wasn’t like that. It was so fast, and he didn’t seem to realize I’d be there at all…so it can’t be him.” 

It makes him crazy, to see the stress and care on Atem’s face and not be able to soothe it. Is this not the Afterlife they’d earned? Should not _everything_ be under his control now? Seth clenches his jaw, and says as calmly as he can, “You asked for me, my Pharaoh. What aid can I provide?”

_I don’t know._ Atem’s eyes slide away again, as if he’ll be able to better focus on an answer when he _isn’t_ looking at Seth. That doesn’t seem to be the case, unfortunately. “…Don’t leave,” he faintly settles upon after a moment. “I don’t know what to do. I just know I don’t want you to leave my side, that won’t help.” 

“He’s useless,” Seth mutters, so annoyed that he can’t keep down what he’s been longing to say for months, ever since Atem had vanished from his side. “I can’t believe I would be reborn as someone who would fail you so miserably.”

“He hasn’t _failed_ me,” Atem sighs out, turning away. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s not the one summoning me back and forth.”

“That’s even worse!” Seth catches Atem’s hand, squeezing gently. “He’s failing you, just like I did. Nothing I did could make you live again.”

Atem stares up at him for a long, lingering moment, then sighs again, his fingers slowly coiling their way through Seth’s. “It _wasn’t_ your duty to make me live again. It isn’t his either. Whoever is summoning me—whatever is summoning me—it doesn’t feel…deliberate. Not after this time.” His smile is wry. “I _was_ supposed to die in a rather particular way, you know.” 

“And you did. You paid the price.” Seth kneels, his thumbs stroking over the back of Atem’s hand. “No matter how I wanted to pay it for you.”

“…You’re being rather depressing,” Atem quietly tells him, though he doesn’t pull away. “Let’s talk about…anything else.” 

“As my Pharaoh wishes.” Seth presses a kiss to the back of Atem’s fingers. “Shall we play a game, then?”

Wait. Why does _that_ make him have such a painful, visceral reaction? Every single cocky smile, the way Kaiba comes _alive_ when he’s opposite Atem, and yet, he can’t do _anything_ about that right now, because—

Because _why?_

“…Nope,” Atem mutters, informal in an instant if it means he can hide the _stupid_ way his eyes go wet, and he abruptly throws himself against Seth, slinging his arms around his neck.

Seth is on his feet in a second, scooping Atem up in his arms, alarm sounding inside his chest as his heart informs him he’s done the wrong thing again, the more fool he. He makes his way to the Pharaoh’s bedchambers, shouldering them open and kicking them closed behind himself, never releasing Atem for a fraction of a second. “No one will see you in here,” he promises, voice low, protective. “No one but me.”

Atem exhales a huff of approval into Seth’s neck, his fingers curling around against his back. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I suppose when I said I wanted you…I meant this.” He lifts his face finally, kohl already attempting to streak at the corner of his eyes. “You know that feeling when you leave so many projects half-done and it just— _bothers_ you?” 

“I never leave my projects half-done,” Seth says, frowning. “Why would I sleep before completing my projects? That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Seth. You know that feeling when I _interrupt you_ and don’t let you finish?”

“Oh, I _hate_ that.”

“That’s the feeling. It’s…the worst feeling.” Atem pulls at the collar of Seth’s robe, and uses it to dab at his eyes. “And I can’t go back and just _fix it_ , you know,” he crossly says. “Because I’m here. Like I should be, but…” 

Seth lets himself be used as a handkerchief without protest, then tips his fingers under Atem’s chin, tilting his face up. “Pharaoh,” he says quietly. “Do you know what the most powerful force is in the universe? It is not the eye of Thoth, nor the judgment of Ma’at.”

Atem blinks up at him, reining in the urge to sniff. “…My initial urge is to make a joke about your white dragons, but somehow, for once, I don’t think that’s what you mean.” 

“Please don’t joke about the White Dragon,” Seth says with a sigh, and cups Atem’s face in his large hands. “It’s your will, my Pharaoh. Yours, no one else’s. By force of that will was the great wicked god sealed for thousands of years. By force of that will, we all returned to vanquish it again. By the gods—by force of your will am I _here_ , your priest, instead of in the Afterlife that was carefully crafted for the nineteenth Pharaoh of our dynasty.” For just a fraction of a second, Seth grows older, the weight of years set on his shoulders, heavy gold ringing his head and neck and arms, an air of command settling as his mantle. Then it vanishes, leaving him Atem’s young priest once more, his face gentle. “But you won’t say now what it is you will.”

“…Ah.” Atem stares up at him for a moment longer, and his brow furrows, annoyed. “I feel like that’s an odd dispersal of power for the gods to give me, but it _does_ seem to be correct, if that’s the case. I really do seem to prefer you like this, don’t I? Let me touch your hair and consider.” 

Seth smiles, and pulls off his headdress, letting his hair spill down over his shoulders, slightly damp from the day’s heat. “If you were to will it,” he continues, taking one knee in front of Atem again, looking up at him, “anything could be. But you won’t say whether you want to be here or there.” _With me, or with him._

“Because I love being here, with you and everyone else,” Atem insistently says, dropping himself down onto the edge of his bed and sinking his fingers into Seth’s hair immediately. “I’m supposed to be here. Having unresolved…things…left in the world of the living, I feel as though every dead person has that.” His eyes lid as his nails drag along Seth’s scalp. “But most importantly…I don’t want to leave you again.”

Seth barks out a laugh, unable to help himself, the mirth coming to him so much more easily than it ever has to his modern counterpart. “My Pharaoh,” he murmurs, letting his hands come up to rest on Atem’s thighs, “not to denigrate your presence as the most precious gift, but…are you worried that we will run out of eternity?”

“…Maybe,” Atem reluctantly admits, skin automatically twitching underneath Seth’s touch, coming alive, and his fingers curl. “I’ve worried, before.” 

“Perhaps you worry too much. Give me permission to touch you.”

“I worry the exact right amount. I worry you’re going to be angry with me, if I—“ Atem shuts his mouth abruptly, and huffs. “You’re already touching me, do it more.” 

Seth snorts. “If you run off with my later self?” His lips twitch into a smirk, and he pins Atem to the bed by his shoulders, looming over him. “If I’ve served you so well you can’t rest properly until every version of me is sworn to you? Think better of me, king of my heart.”

Atem scowls up at him for a moment, holding Seth’s gaze intently before his own melts after another second, and he lurches up, stealing a kiss. “I like the way you say things,” he softly says. 

“You gave your life for your people, twice,” Seth says, his lips moving hot on Atem’s, kisses pressed between words as his hands loosen Atem’s robes, pulling them up. “Don’t give your death for anyone. Tell me what you want. Be honest.”

“Asking me right now—is swaying my decision,” Atem breathes, his hands eagerly grabbing for Seth as he arches up, mouth hot against his own before dragging to his neck, his teeth sharp and possessive. “I _want_ both of you,” he crossly mutters. “But—your other self…does _not_ touch me enough.” 

Seth grabs Atem’s wrist, then pins it to the bed, as if Atem’s strength next to his own is no more than a kitten next to an elephant. “You will always have me,” he says, his azure gaze piercing, locked onto Atem’s. “You could never escape me. Devoured by Ammit herself, you couldn’t escape me. If you compel Ra to give you another life, you will not escape me.”

Atem’s breath catches, his eyes wide as he freezes underneath that stare for a moment, his throat bobbing slowly as he swallows. “…But I left _you_ once before,” he whispers, his fingers curling ineffectually into his own palm. “And I _know_ you. The other you—sometimes, I’m certain he hates me.” 

“Impossible.” Seth’s voice is absolutely certain, with no room for doubt, his conviction as strong as his grip. “If you told me that in my next life I was the size of a mouse and bright yellow, I would believe you. But I could never hate you.”

The words sink into him like a hot knife, and Atem briefly shuts his eyes, forcing them to resolve with everything he knows and has experienced with Kaiba Seto. “Let me go,” he softly says, breathing out a long, shaky breath. 

Seth pulls back immediately, releasing Atem’s wrists, standing up so he’s no longer straddling the Pharaoh’s hips. “As you wish, my Pharaoh,” he says, though there’s the tiniest hint of doubt that he’s said the wrong thing.

“…Damn. He was right,” Atem crossly mutters, making absolutely no attempt to move when he’s released. “No, come back, I was just testing something. I still want you to destroy me.” 

“…Brat.” Seth frowns, not understanding, but obediently covers Atem’s body with his own again, tilting his face up, kissing him thoroughly, one hand stealing down to spread Atem’s thighs apart. “But as you wish, my Pharaoh.”

Atem’s arms immediately wrap around him, grabbing at Seth’s back to yank him close. “He _implied_ ,” he supplies between kisses, thighs splaying with a leg winding around Seth’s waist, “that I didn’t know how to deal with people that didn’t automatically do as I said.” 

“You are the Pharaoh,” Seth says, clearly not quite understanding. “I would be a poor vassal if I disobeyed you for no reason.”  His half-hard cock nudges at Atem’s thigh, growing swiftly as the thought comes to him that Atem might soon be leaving, might be leaving Seth to rule in his place again, that it might be _years_ to come before he can taste Atem this way again. It still feels wrong, that he should be the one taking the dominant role, but sometimes, he supposes, Atem doesn’t mind that he, also, was Pharaoh. “Tell me you want me inside.”

“Then know this—your other self is a _very_ poor vassal,” Atem murmurs, his eyes fluttering as he feels Seth hardening against him, a shiver raking down his spine in anticipation. “I want you inside.” His nails sink into Seth’s back as he vocalizes what Seth is thinking. “Make it count.” 

Seth presses a hard kiss to Atem’s mouth, his own lips demanding, his hands coming up to pin Atem’s wrists to the bed again. “Say it,” he says roughly, shifting his weight, until the head of his cock nudges against Atem’s hole, not pressing in yet. “Tell me what you want.”

Atem arches with a ragged breath, automatically straining against the hold on his wrists. His thighs tremble as they’re spread apart, and one foot plants into the bed for purchase as the other leg tries to wind its way around Seth’s hip. “I want,” he breathes against Seth’s mouth, his teeth sharp against Seth’s lips, “you _in_ me. All of you. Fuck me like you would’ve as the Pharaoh.” 

That image blurs again, and this time, Seth’s heavy jewelry coalesces, his features hardening with age, until he appears not a young man, but one in his prime, with the golden _ba_ of a Pharaoh burning behind his eyes. “Then I will take you,” he breathes, pushing forward, breaching that tight hole, “the way _I_ want to. And you…will serve your Pharaoh.”

Atem’s voice cracks on a groan, his legs trembling where they clamp around Seth’s waist as that thick cock sinks into him, stretching him achingly wide, making him twitch and pant and squirm. Tears reflexively spring to his eyes, and he blinks rapidly, chest heaving as he half-heartedly thrashes against Seth’s hold. “I think we both know…that I’d be an _awful_ servant,” Atem rasps, his expression already glazed. “But I’ll _allow_ you to have what you want…Pharaoh.” 

“Tell me what you want.” 

Seth’s voice is hot, rough, his thrusts strong and sure, the look on his face so proud it verges on arrogance. One of his big hands is enough to hold Atem’s wrists above his head, the other stealing down to palm over Atem’s lovely cock, stroking from base to tip with every thrust of Seth’s cock against his sweet spot. His voice is demanding as he says it again, eyes blazing. “Don’t lie to me, Pharaoh. Tell—me—what—you—want!”

_Too much, that’s far too much_ —the words are on the tip of Atem’s tongue, but he bites down on his lower lip, his eyes rolling back as Seth’s cock sinks in so deep that his entire body jerks, the legs clamped around Seth’s waist suddenly vice-tight. His cock aches underneath Seth’s palm, and Atem’s eyes flutter, vision blurring from the wet mess of his own overstimulated tears and kohl as they lock on Seth—

And his vision unfocuses again, making the man above him look so _much_ like Kaiba Seto that it makes his breath choke up in his throat. 

His cock pulses underneath that big hand, and Atem strangles an almost-affronted sounding whimper, his face flushed, his limbs soaked with sweat as he trembles from head to toe. Now that— _that_ —is simply _not fair_. 

Seth’s fingers tighten on Atem’s wrists, then relax. He watches Atem, eyes intent, then shifts, pulling Atem up to sit in his lap, letting the weight of him settle their bodies together as he sinks in even deeper with a groan. “I’m not done with you,” he grunts, hands splaying out over Atem’s back. “When I send you to him—you’re going to be so full of me—“

Atem groans, slumping into Seth’s chest as his thighs give out with an ineffective wobble the second he attempts to use them. The way Seth’s cock sinks so deeply into him takes his breath away, leaving him to twitch and shudder, grabbing blindly for Seth’s shoulders to steady himself. “Good,” he finally manages to rasp out, body clenching with the thought and making him gasp as he arches, pressing himself into Seth. “Make it _last.”_

Everything Atem does makes Seth hard. It’s been that way as long as he can remember, since the first time he’d set eyes on the young prince, since the first time the prince had called him to his private chambers, almond oil on his fingers, breathy whispers of _I swear I won’t hurt you_ on his lips. He’d been pleased to be of service to his god, Horus reborn again, and he loves being of service now, living up to his namesake, the winner of the eternal wrestling match between the gods. 

His hips rock up, filling Atem eagerly, his fingertips digging in, leaving ten sharp bruises on Atem’s hips with every thrust. “Tell me,” he breathes again, his voice as insistent as his hands. “Tell me what you want, Pharaoh. Tell me where you want to be.”

The way it feels to be bruised by those sure, strong, usually so _careful_ hands makes Atem light on fire anew, his body rousing again so sharply that it makes his breath hiccup audibly. “…where your other self can see what you’ve done to me, and be just as jealous as you are of him,” Atem dazedly answers, twitching and tensing hard at the thought of Kaiba’s probable reaction. His nails rake against Seth’s shoulders, his breath hot against his throat as he arches down into the roll of Seth’s hips. “I want—to be where I can have—all of you.” 

Triumph surges in Seth’s eyes, and he grinds up hard into Atem’s body, feeling the tight, slick squeeze around his cock and groaning in pleasure, his thrusts growing faster and faster. “Say it,” he hisses, driving hard towards his completion. “Say, ‘I want to be with him,’ say it loud and make me _believe_ it!”

Atem hisses out a sound of protest, desperately wanting to add dozens of amendments to that— _but I also want to be with you, but I’ll miss you, but I deserve to have you, but, but, but_ —but Seth’s cock makes his eyes cross, his hands make him gasp and groan, and there’s not a chance in hell that he can wriggle out of Seth’s grip once he’s caught up in it. “I w-want—“ His voice cracks, and Atem’s forehead thunks against Seth’s chest. “I want—to be with him!” 

The gold decorating Pharaoh Seth blazes with sudden power, his eyes crackling with lightning as he slams in one last time, spilling deep within him, filling Atem with rough, bold thrusts. Sweat beads on sun-browned skin, satisfaction and a fierce, proud love on his face, as his arms curl around Atem’s body, holding him still. “Then to him,” he whispers, pressing his lips to Atem’s neck. “I swear…I will ensure that you go, my Pharaoh.”

Atem breathes out, long and shaky, and slumps into Seth’s chest as he catches his breath, sweaty and shivery and very well-dissolved. He lifts his face, staring up at Seth for a moment, then lunges up, kissing him soundly, his hands fisting up into his hair. “I won’t waste this,” he insistently says. “I swear.” 

“I know.” Seth kisses him back, sucking on his bottom lip, dragging his tongue over Atem’s, a long, slow movement before he pulls back. “We belong to each other for eternity,” he whispers, resting his forehead against Atem’s. “If I’d found another you, I would move the the gods aside to get what I wanted. You aren’t the only one greedy beyond all measure in this bed.”

“If you weren’t, I’d worry how you could stand me,” Atem says with a quiet laugh, his eyes shutting as Seth leans his forehead into his. “Any part of you that seems that unhappy…I can’t leave it alone,” he admits after another moment. “Especially if I know _I’m_ the thing that would fix it. And I am. I know I am.” His eyes crack open, his smile smug. “I’m the _best_ gift you could receive.”

“You aren’t a gift from the gods.” Seth brings up a hand, stroking Atem’s cheek. “To me, you are the only god worth worshipping. Whatever has happened to that other man to make him so unhappy…being around you could only be cure, never pestilence.”

“If you think that, then he must think it, too,” Atem firmly says, more to convince himself than anything. “Somewhere, in that…dense head of his. Ngh, help me off your cock, you’re a lot. I need to go, before I lose this feeling.”

Seth smiles to himself, rather enjoying the fact that Atem has clearly made up his mind that nothing will stop him. And as far as Seth is concerned, nothing will. “Exhale,” he murmurs, and lifts Atem off of his cock, as if he were no heavier than Mana for all his gold and musculature. “Make your preparations. I’ll gather the priests. We’ll make a petition to Re at sunrise.”

Atem collapses onto his back with a sated noise, his eyes heavy and lidded as he watches Seth move. “Thank you, Seth,” he says, reaching out a searching hand to curl it over the back of one of Seth’s. “I will miss this you for now, but…I won’t fail.” 

“You can miss me all you like,” Seth says, standing up and straightening his robes. “But send you away I _will_. Besides. This gives me time to study more methods of beating you.” As if he hasn’t had three thousand years of waiting for this man. But at this point, what’s a century more after thirty of them, now that he knows he _will_ get what he wants in the end?

Atem’s smile is pleased, and decidedly catlike as he watches Seth stand. “You’ll never beat me, but it’s adorable that you keep trying,” he hums, straightening his own clothing with a grimace as he moves, feeling the ache of bruises and sore, aching muscles all the more. 

“…Pest,” Seth mutters under his breath, but it’s a fond smile on his lips as he leaves the room, face setting into something determined.


	9. Chapter 9

“Brother,” Mokuba says, and Kaiba Seto knows that voice. That’s the voice that says Mokuba is hesitating, that Mokuba has been trying not to say something for a long time and can’t hold himself back anymore.

“Yes, Mokuba? I’m very busy.”

“With…”

“What do you think?” Kaiba snaps, and turns back to his work, far more intent than he ever is when it’s just business at stake. The lines of energy rendered as code spill across his screen, the kind of stupid shit people call ‘magic’ consigned to numbers and formulae, the way Kaiba had _known_ they could be. “What I’m always busy with, time is running out.”

“Time until…”

“Until the Ancient Egyptian calendar quarter of Flood, obviously! When I can punch a hole in the fabric of space and time and rescue a long-dead Pharaoh from his well-deserved Afterlife and drag him back here to play Duel Monsters with me!” Kaiba snarls, as if such a thing should be obvious. “As if I haven’t told you that before!”

“See, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about? Last time, brother, it was _so_ weird, and I don’t think it was good…”

“That wasn’t a good dimension,” Kaiba admits, but dismisses it. “Blah, blah, something about Edison and a thousand ways not to make a lightbulb.”

“Those were not nice aliens.”

“No, Mokuba, they were not.”

“And the time before that, that was a _very_ big asteroid, and it got _really_ close to wiping out Paris…”

“Do you have a point, Mokuba? Or are you just here to recount my failures and distract from my success?”

Mokuba sighs. “I’m just saying. There are other people you can play cards with. Like…seven billion of them.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Kaiba’s fingers clatter on the keys, as he finally isolates one stray sequence, pinning it down and coding the music-based harmonic into numbers. “Not everyone on Earth knows how to play Duel Monsters yet.”

“Brother, I’m _saying_ you should let him go!”

Kaiba’s hands pause, and he turns to face Mokuba, face uncomprehending. “But I want to see him again,” he explains, as though Mokuba were missing this obvious, integral part of the equation. To his surprise, Mokuba’s face is twisted in genuine distress, as if this conversation is far more important to him than Kaiba had considered.

“But he’s dead!” Mokuba says bluntly, hands fisted at his sides. “I miss him, too, but he’s not coming back just because you want him to! He’s dead, and you should let him go! Remember that he took that puzzle back with him? He doesn’t want you to find him! He wants to rest, you know? That’s why Yuugi had to beat him, and everything! You’re so smart, why aren’t you understanding this?”

Code scrolls by on the screen. A cold, nervous flutter ripples through Kaiba’s belly. What if Mokuba is right? What if he’s been chasing something that doesn’t actually want to be caught? Atem hadn’t ever come out and said he wanted to stay, during those few insane days when he’d lived again, when he’d rubbed kohl onto Kaiba’s neck and worn his shirt as a tunic and criticized his holograms. _I’ve been working on them_ , he longs to tell Atem, when he doesn’t long to tell Atem something else. _I brought in your other self, I swallowed so much of my pride to ask his opinion on all of your advisors, I even made some of your palace, do you have any idea how much attention he paid to you?_

But Atem _hadn’t_ said he wanted to stay, had he? 

_Idiot. Stupid, pathetic, weak. He doesn’t care about you._

It isn’t his own voice, but a man he’d called _Father_ for far too long, who had done him the favor of trying to cut out, stamp out, crush out all of the weakness in his heart, of which there had been far too much, always far too much. 

How come the one time he knows for sure what he wants, it’s with someone who doesn’t want the same thing?

“…You’ve been staring into space for kind of a while,” Mokuba says at last, though how much later, Kaiba can’t tell. “Was it…I don’t mean that he wouldn’t want to see you, you know. I just meant—“

“Maybe you’re right.”

Kaiba hardly recognizes his own voice. He reaches for the computer’s power cord, a vague idea of yanking it brutally out, making wires flash and spark, probably burning down the whole space station flashing through his mind. 

_You vastly underestimate how much time I’d rather be spending with you._

That text sentence, screencapped and saved to his photos, echoes through Kaiba’s memories with a painful jolt, and his hand pauses in midair. Mokuba is talking. Unhappy resentment burns inside of Kaiba, a war within him making him clench his fists.

A soft chime sounds. A sliver of light appears on the horizon, light spilling over the earth a thousand miles away.

It’s the first of Flood, in the middle of the night. Just as it had been a year earlier, when Atem had showed up in his room, and thought the only thing to do would be to get into his bed, as if he belonged there.

“One last time.”

Kaiba hardly recognizes his own voice, as he pulls back from the cord, and punches in a few aggressive keystrokes, finishing the line of code that had eluded him until now. Now, it coalesces into a brilliant, completed command, syncing the energy signature of the Egyptian Afterlife program with the Dimension Cube, the remnants of every Millennium item he’s been able to find and the God Cards, and Kaiba’s lips pull back in a feral grin. “One last time. Like any game…double or nothing.”

He punches the button, hears Mokuba grip for the armrests as the space station starts to shake, and hears himself start to laugh.

_Come on, Atem. Tell me to fuck off or come with me, I’ll never extend this hand again._

The sky starts to split. 

There’s not a better way to describe it than that, what with how the night sky warps and spins around them. The coalescing of stars _change_ , the position of constellations moving, shifting, wiggling around to different places, some added, some disappearing—until it’s the night sky over some ancient place, with the high walls of a palace courtyard looming. 

The group of priests are the first visible, ‘living’ things as the sun rises on their morning, the setting of a galaxy from three thousand years ago still looming in the sky as their prayers apparently seem to rouse the sky to properly open up.

That doesn’t last, however.

The shimmering curtains of the courtyard part, and it’s Atem that steps out, full clad in gold and jewelry, with an expression that’s less disbelieving and more _well, I knew_ this _would be happening_ , complete with an extended hand.

The semicircle of priests parts, as the womb of Re begins to open, their prayers and magic entwining, beseeching the nature of the universe itself to take the Pharaoh with Ra in his morning rise, to call him by Osiris’s name and let him live again, once more, to take his precious, preserved form back where it came from for another turn of the scales, for another chance to breathe real air.

The prayers coalesce, a hope, a dream, reaching out—

And then the sky splits, dawn breaking—

And a hole is somehow forced open in a flash of blue-white fire, revealing Seto Kaiba, a manic, wild expression of triumph on his face, a computer in one hand, the other outstretched towards Atem. “Come with me now,” he calls, the words echoing oddly, warped, as if they exist in two different worlds at once, and the Afterlife begins to tremble. “Or I’ll leave you alone to sleep forever!”

Atem doesn’t hesitate for even a single breath. 

He lunges forward, bolting into a run to grab ahold of Kaiba’s hand, clinging so tightly that he hears his own joints pop. He spares only one last glance—a sideways one, catching Seth’s eyes for a moment more before he turns his full attention to Kaiba and keeps it there, letting himself be hauled forward and with him back through the hole that he created.

His full weight suddenly crashes forward into Kaiba, the world abruptly, suddenly still the moment their hands touch, and Atem throws his other arm around his neck, leaping up to kiss him so hard that his teeth rattle in his skull.

The dimension door closes.

Sirens wail, informing everyone on board that the circuits are overloaded and shutting down.

The elevator shakes, emergency procedures beginning as it zooms back towards Earth.

Mokuba is yelling, running around and putting out fires.

Kaiba doesn’t notice any of it.

His arms go around Atem, holding him so tightly his shoulders make popping sounds, lost in the way their mouths meet and move over each other, Atem solid and real and warm in his arms, and nothing else matters.

Atem’s hands clench against Kaiba’s back, fisting up into his coat and holding so tightly that he forgets to breathe. Eventually, he remembers that he _should_ breathe, and he pulls back from Kaiba’s mouth, trembling, staring up at him as his chest heaves. 

“…Hi,” he whispers after another second. “Again.”

Kaiba stares down, unable to speak when he feels so elated, so vindicated, that he can hardly think of a word. He swallows hard, and finds himself smiling, a bigger, more genuine smile than he thinks has split his face in well over a decade. “…Hi.”

Dimly, he registers that Mokuba is attempting to push him for some reason. “Stop that, Mokuba.”

“Get in the escape pod!” Mokuba yells, frantic enough that it rather sounds like he’s been yelling for a while. “Both of you! You can make kissy faces in there, we’re _falling_!”

Whatever that means. Atem makes zero attempts to let go of Kaiba, and zero attempts to look anywhere except at him, tuning Mokuba and his screeching out with pinpoint precision. “You are extremely handsome when you smile like that.” 

“You’re the only thing worth smiling at in the world,” Kaiba says bluntly, and gives Atem another smile, as if he’s the sort of person that just _does that_ now.

“The escape pod,” Mokuba yells, yanking on Kaiba’s coat when pushing on his back didn’t work, “is _this way_ and only like five steps!”

“Careful, your cards might get jealous,” Atem says, only to pause when his hold on Kaiba’s coat is dislodged by Mokuba’s pulling. “Oi.” 

“My cards know—Mokuba, this is a private moment.”

Mokuba gives them both a death glare, and points to the window, showing them free-falling at an astonishing rate, sirens blaring all around them. “Brother, I’m _begging_ you to just get in the escape pod?”

Still not entirely registering anything besides Atem actually wanting to come to this dimension, Kaiba finally lets Mokuba pull him a few feet to the side, to what looks like a vaguely different-shaped room, then slam a door shut. Then he turns his attention back to Atem, and his face softens. “You came.”

“ _You_ came, and…” Atem exhales, and his arms throw their way back around Kaiba properly. “Beseeching a god doesn’t usually work so quickly,” he says excitedly, his eyes bright. “But you were just…there. I’ve been planning to try and come back to you for months. I’m sorry you had to wait.” 

“A god?” Kaiba’s eyebrows raise, and his mind starts to coalesce back into its familiar shape, even though his perception of what matters and what doesn’t has gone rather sideways and upside down in the last few minutes. “If you _want_ to worship me, fine.”

“No, no, we were asking for the assistance of a god.” Atem rolls his eyes. “It’s not important anymore. The _important_ thing is that it worked, along with all of the praying and planning and ritual sex…”

“…Atem.” Kaiba smirks. “It wasn’t that at all. I used that thing.” He points out the window, at the Dimension Door he’d created on the side of the space station, now looking substantially more explode-y. “Science. I hacked the Afterlife.”

“You can’t _hack_ the Afterlife,” Atem exasperatedly says, looking out of the window skeptically. 

“Mokuba.”

Mokuba, looking exasperated, peers around Kaiba’s side. “He did it,” he confirms. “I mean, I think it was less ‘hacking the Afterlife” and more ‘irresponsibly punching holes in other dimensions until he found the one you were in,’ but he definitely did science.”

“…The gods’ magic guided your science to me, then.” 

“…You _have_ to make it magic, don’t you?”

Atem looks up at him smugly. “Yes. Because it is. I’m here.” 

Kaiba opens his mouth, then closes it, wrapping his arms around Atem again, bending to press his face into Atem’s hair. “Fine. It’s magic.”

More than satisfied, Atem immediately plasters himself to Kaiba again, as if there is actual glue sticking them together and he cannot be removed. “I’m not leaving again,” he says more quietly into Kaiba’s chest. “You’re stuck with me now.” 

Kaiba tries to say something, but the words stick in his throat, and he just swallows hard instead. Anxiety starts to thread through him—Atem has probably made a mistake, will get bored of him soon, everyone gets sick of him but Mokuba, it’s not like Kaiba can really change, he knows he’s a giant asshole—and he squeezes his eyes shut to wall those thoughts out as much as he can. “If you look,” he says instead, nodding to the window, “you can see the sun rise on the other side of the world.”

“Yeah, for about ten more seconds,” Mokuba warns, back to back with Kaiba, pressing buttons. “Then we’re deploying the Glide feature. About sixty seconds to landing.”

“That’s nice,” Atem says, looking pointedly up at Kaiba instead, as if there is nothing more interesting in that very moment. 

Kaiba’s hand comes up to cup Atem’s cheek, and it feels all at once like the softest thing he’s ever felt, and like it’s shocking him with electricity. The pad of his thumb brushes gently over a smudged line of kohl. “Nice,” he whispers, and bends to kiss Atem again, just as the space station explodes above them, shrapnel falling into the atmosphere and burning up in a hail of what Kaiba thinks look pleasantly like fireworks.

Atem’s eyes flutter, and his hands wind their way around the back of Kaiba’s neck when he bends, intent on keeping him down and close when he’s kissed again. “You bent down,” he murmurs against Kaiba’s lips, eyes lidded as he looks up at him. “Without me asking. Very good.” 

“When the order is attractive enough,” Kaiba murmurs, voice low and husky, “even I might be willing to follow it.”

Atem’s mouth suddenly goes dry, and he swallows hard around the urge to yank Kaiba down and kiss him in a way that has little good behavior attached to it. “I…ah. About that,” he hastily manages instead, his eyes flicking away as he hopes Kaiba doesn’t notice too much that _he_ is flustered. “I wanted to apologize, about before. I realized something.” 

The words don’t quite make sense in a sentence, and Kaiba shakes his head, trying to rattle his impressive brain back into working order. _Brain is performing a non-regulation use_ , it informs him. _As long as the feelings continue, calculations and analyses suffer!_

_Die, then_ , he thinks back at himself, annoyed. “Apologize? For what?”

“For treating you…well. Like you were my priest.” Atem shrugs a shoulder helplessly. “You were that before, but…then, when I died, you were also a Pharaoh. In this life, that obviously is what your soul has latched onto. I was pushing too hard for you to bend, with that in mind.” 

At first, the words sound ridiculous. 

Then, Kaiba’s cheeks flush, as something inside those words resonates so deeply with a part of himself he doesn’t understand that it makes his knees weak. “It’s fine,” he finds himself saying, and means more than that, hoping Atem understands.

Atem’s expression immediately melts into relief, and he latches right back onto Kaiba with renewed force. “Good,” he cheerfully says. “Then we’ll start fresh. I _am_ still sharing your bed, though.” 

Kaiba sniffs, a bit of his old arrogance back in his face, though the warm light in his eyes is new. “As if I’d let you go anywhere else.”

“I fortunately don’t _want_ to go anywhere else. I’m retired from being Pharaoh and saving the world and _this_ is my reward,” Atem says, extremely resolute in this decision. “You, your bed, and card games that do not threaten lives.” 

Kaiba agrees with no hesitation, his arms firm around Atem’s shoulders. “You’ve earned it. I don’t care if you never do anything but duel me for the rest of our lives. I—I mean, the rest of your life.”

Behind Kaiba, where he can’t see, Mokuba mouths, _Smoooooth_.

Atem, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice, as wrapped up as he is in having Kaiba here and touching him again. “We _have_ to finish that duel we were starting when I disappeared,” he suddenly, insistently says. “I have not been able to stop thinking about it.” 

“It’s still set up,” Kaiba assures him, stroking Atem’s hair. 

“It really is,” Mokuba says gloomily. “He talks about it all the time. For a year.”

Just then, the pod fires a hydraulic burst of air, then coasts down to land, landing gear extending to the ground. 

“For a…I suppose it has been _that_ long, I lose track of time—being dead and all,” Atem wryly admits, content to plaster himself to Kaiba and pay attention to absolutely _nothing_ else. “I haven’t been able to think of anything else.” He stares up at Kaiba. “You’re distracting.” 

“Good,” Kaiba says, trying to keep that idiot grin off of his face and failing spectacularly. 

“He scanned your deck and position and offered ten million yen to anyone who could beat him with it online,” Mokuba pipes up. 

“All useless,” Kaiba says dismissively. 

“Hah! Good, that’s because I’m the only one that can and will continue to beat you,” Atem brightly says, fastening himself to Kaiba’s arm. “Do you want to go play _now?_ ” 

“Yes. Yes, I do.” He also wants to do some other things, which is new and a little bit distracting, but Kaiba is good at ignoring that part of himself. He looks around, and frowns. “Mokuba, where are we?”

“In the escape pod,” Mokuba says, absolutely deadpan. “After falling out of a space station, which neither of you seemed to notice. Wow, I’m going to be president of KaibaCorp by dinnertime.”

“It didn’t seem important,” Atem says dismissively, intently staring Kaiba down. “Do you want to go play now and _then_ let me soothe the hurt of your loss by kissing you again?” 

“Ha! I’ll be the one soothing the hurt of your defeat—I mean, rubbing in that I beat you,” Kaiba corrects himself swiftly. He moves an arm to open the door of the escape pod, only to feel his legs trembling. “Oh. You’re heavy.”

“Yes, sorry,” Atem says, uncaring of Kaiba’s posturing. “I’m wearing the special gold. Actually, you can put me down and help me take it all off, now that you’re here I suppose I don’t need to be ceremonial anymore.” 

“Now that _you’re_ here. I was always here.”

“The car should be here in a minute,” Mokuba says, staring at them as if they’ve both grown a few extra heads. “In fact…I think I’m calling another car. So I can be in one that you two aren’t in.”

“Fine, now that _I’m_ here, you get to help me strip once we’re in the car.”

Kaiba carefully sets Atem down on the floor, though he doesn’t step back in the slightest. “All right,” he says, feeling as if he’s drunk, and putting words together is still oddly difficult.

Mokuba stares at them, deeply judgmental, until the cars arrive. Then, without a word, he jumps into one and slams the door shut.

“What’s gotten into him?” Kaiba asks, though without much actual concern, leading Atem to the other car with a broad hand splayed on Atem’s back, possessive and unwilling to relinquish contact. He opens the door, letting Atem slide in before he follows. “Take me home,” he says shortly, then pushes the button that raises the divider and tints it black before the driver can respond.

The hand at his back is automatically distracting, and Atem is less than graceful about how he tumbles into the car because of it. Well, fortunately Kaiba doesn’t seem to notice, as they _both_ seem to be being stupid, vaguely drunk, and highly distracted. 

Good. Very good. 

The door shuts, and Atem immediately slithers close again, unrepentant in how he grabs for Kaiba’s hair and drags him down to kiss him again, not _quite_ capable of stopping himself.

Stopping is the farthest thing from Kaiba’s mind.

Honestly, Kaiba’s mind is the farthest thing from his mind, feeling like something that belongs to someone else. His hands come up to cup Atem’s face, holding him in place like a sparrow he doesn’t want to fly away, soft and sweet as much as he is hungry. 

After a long, dizzy moment, he pulls back, a flush of something like shyness on his cheeks. “I forgot,” he says, eyes unfocused. “I don’t know how to kiss.”

Atem breathes out a laugh against Kaiba’s lips as he shifts closer on his knees, his own arms draping their way over Kaiba’s shoulders, hands curling against his back. “I think you kiss just fine,” he murmurs, tilting his head in Kaiba’s hold to lean up and kiss him again, his teeth soft against his lower lip. “You already know how to kiss _me_.” 

_Weren’t we going to duel?_

Kaiba almost asks it, but honestly, it seems sort of unimportant now that Atem is touching him in a way that no one else ever has, with such unaccustomed gentleness. He’s never thought of Atem as a gentle person—he’s a king, a warrior, a force of nature.  He doesn’t have a response to that, and doesn’t feel like he needs one, not when Atem doesn’t seem to hate everything he does. He reaches up, feeling the weight of just one of those arm guards, frowning. “How do I take these off of you?”

“Ah—there’s hidden clasps,” Atem says, refocusing himself enough to pull back and offer up one arm, turning it over to show Kaiba the sliver-thin connection of the guard on the underside, holding it closed at the top and the bottom. “I’m actually amazed you were able to pick me _and_ all of this up? It’s kind of stupidly heavy,” he grouses, prying one clasp open with a fingernail to show Kaiba how it’s done. 

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Kaiba says truthfully, taking Atem’s other arm between his hands, finding the clasps and unlocking them easily with his long, clever fingers. He sets each gold piece aside, noticing the weight now, and privately wonders exactly how he _had_ managed to pick up Atem and all of that jewelry.

“Ahhh, that feels so _much_ better.” Atem gratefully turns, and presents the back of his neck to Kaiba as well. “Please. I’m suffering now that I’m thinking about it.” 

Kaiba quickly unclasps the neck brace as well, catching it before it can fall and crush a nearby village, setting it with the others. “Where else? Oh.” One of his hands comes up, fingertip touching that expanse where dark meets slightly less dark. “Tan lines…”

A shivery jolt goes up Atem’s spine the second Kaiba’s hands set to his now bare skin. _Reel it in,_ he scolds himself, though it’s easier said than done, when Kaiba is _right there_. “Yes,” he faintly says. “Tan lines. The ones on my legs are…egregious.”

“Is there gold there, too?” Kaiba supposes he could just look down, but that sounds like he’d have to wrench his gaze away from Atem’s neck, which sounds…difficult.

“Some. A lot. You can take everything out of my hair first, though…” He was going to take the pieces out of his hair himself, but Kaiba, touching him? Better, says stupid, distracted, weirdly laser-focused mind. 

Kaiba’s fingers thread gently through Atem’s hair, feeling the stiff peaks laced through with gold pieces, which he carefully removes. He casts an amused look at the growing pile, and murmurs, “You really did dress up to see me, hmm?”

Atem tilts his head back to peer up at Kaiba, deliberately batting his eyelashes. “Yes. It was an important occasion.” 

“Damned right it was.” That smug look is back, and Kaiba takes off the last bit on Atem’s head, setting it aside. “I’ll need a new vault for all of this. Or do you want to keep it close?”

“It’s probably better if it’s locked up somewhere…it _seems_ like the sort of thing someone would make a cursed object out of,” Atem wryly says, shifting to present one leg to Kaiba, though it wobbles a bit with the effort. “These are the worst.” 

“Is this why your legs are so toned?” Kaiba teases, unclasping the shin guard, setting it aside as well. His arms are starting to feel weary, and he reaches for the last one, setting it to the side. “That all weighs more than you do, I think.”

Atem collapses down into Kaiba’s side with a relieved sigh, shutting his eyes. “It definitely does,” he says. “Worth it, if it brought us back together.” 

“It was my technology, but fine,” Kaiba says under his breath, but there’s a spark of amusement there, too. His hands suddenly feel too large, as if he couldn’t possibly put them somewhere that makes sense, and he licks his lips. “Ah…we should be home in…I have no idea how long,” he admits, frowning out the window. “Where _are_ we?”

“I don’t know, I rarely paid attention when running around the city,” Atem admits without care, and leans into Kaiba’s side, resting his head against his shoulder. “It was your technology, too. It was both of us.”

“Do you…want to see the holodeck?” Kaiba asks, suddenly uncertain. “My best duel ring is inside it.”

“Then yes, absolutely. Have you been making newer, fancier holograms of me?” Atem teases.

“Yes.” Kaiba pushes the intercom, telling the driver, “To the KaibaCorp building on Mizubashi,” then clicking it off again. “I think you’ll be impressed,” he says with a smirk, as the car turns swiftly, heading down a different road. 

“I suppose you _did_ get to analyze me in closer contact the last time I was here,” Atem idly says. “And I _do_ like being impressed…ah, I hate that I had to leave before we were able to talk about what the palace looked like…” 

“Mm, yes,” Kaiba says, utterly determined to keep Mutou Yuugi’s involvement an absolute secret until they get inside and he can surprise Atem properly. “But now, there is no time limit. I have a sketch artist ready to take dictation.”

“Perfect,” Atem says, pleased. “But first—duel. I have been thinking about it almost as much as I have been thinking about…” He trails off, then reels himself in again, not wanting to scare Kaiba off by being _so_ abrupt. “Ah, anyway.” 

“So have I,” Kaiba says, eyes alight, not noticing the slip in his excitement as the car turns sharply, then starts to brake. “I have your deck with me, of course. Mine, too.” Tucked into the pockets of his coat, in waterproof, locked pockets.

“…Do you…do you just carry mine around? All the time?” 

“Of course.” Kaiba gives him a look, as if it’s the question that’s strange. “I didn’t know when I’d figure out how to bring you back. And even the most secure vault in the world isn’t impenetrable.”

“…” Atem calmly leans over, and sticks his hands underneath Kaiba’s coat without an ounce of fear or concern. “This one isn’t either, if you don’t mind being close to you,” he idly says, pawing around before—“Aha, there it is.”

Kaiba lets out a stressed, startled noise, scrambling back and away from Atem out of habit when someone suddenly gets into his space, only registering a moment later what had happened. He composes himself immediately, cheeks hot, folding his arms over his chest. “Hmph. You had an advantage.”

“The element of surprise?” Atem archly says, flipping his deck over in his hand with a grin. “You’re so flinchy. I’ll make sure to do that until you’re used to it.” 

“They’re all there,” Kaiba snaps, taking refuge in grumpiness to calm his raging hormones. “I haven’t looked at them. I’ve had my computer scan them and released the positioning online, but I haven’t looked myself.”

“Mmhm. Good. I trust you. You’re a lot of things, but dishonorable, no.” Atem tucks the deck away. “No one even came close to beating you, huh? And I was in such a good spot already…” 

“It can’t possibly surprise you that no one is up to your level,” Kaiba says with a snort. “It doesn’t surprise me, either. It isn’t the fault of the cards that no one can beat me besides you.”

“I’m not surprised…but I am disappointed, mostly on your behalf. You must’ve been so bored.” _And lonely. Because I was both of those things, and you and I usually feel the exact same thing simultaneously, for better or for worse._

“That…is one word for it,” Kaiba agrees, and for a moment, his eyes are faraway. Then he shakes himself, and opens the door, offering Atem his hand as they slide out in the familiar parking lot of the holodeck. 

Atem takes Kaiba’s hand, and all but launches out of the car. “Ah,” he remarks, barely catching himself from toppling into Kaiba. “Adjustment period. I’m _much_ lighter now, I forgot.” 

Kaiba snorts, and leads Atem to the door of the building, not bothering to deal with the driver. In absence of express orders, he will, of course, wait. “Comfortable with me leaving your jewelry in the car?”

“It should be fine.” Atem smirks up at him. “It’s not like it’ll take _that_ long for me to beat you.” 

“Oho, big talk,” Kaiba says with a smirk, activating the door, then leading Atem inside. “Especially since you might be too distracted to do anything.”

“When I’m dueling you, there’s _not_ much else I care about,” Atem says lightly. “So if you’re going to try and distract me, good luck.” 

“I don’t need luck,” Kaiba says smugly, tossing over the headset, waiting until Atem puts it on to activate the Egypt program. “I have this.”


	10. Chapter 10

The program is nothing like it was a year ago. The sands shift and blow in slight breezes, the sky reaching endlessly blue above them. Obelisks line the main market road, each of them painstakingly carved with accurate hieroglyphics, seen behind a thriving, diverse population of linen- and papyrus-clad people, talking to each other, laughing, haggling, exchanging goods, clapping each other on the shoulders. At the end of the road one direction lies the vast expanse of the Sahara, dunes rippling in the heat of the mirage. At the other end stands the palace, and in the distance, the figures of the priests are clearly visible. 

Kaiba smirks, but watches Atem’s face closely, his heart fluttering. What if it’s _too_ good? What if Atem sees what he’s missing, and realizes he’s made a horrible mistake?

The smug, confident expression on Atem’s face slowly dissolves, leaving something far more wide-eyed and startled, then delighted as he slowly turns around, taking in the full expanse of the sights. “…It’s _perfect_ ,” he says, his eyes alight as he spins back around to face Kaiba once more. “How? I barely had a chance to tell you _anything_ last time!” 

Atem’s evident happiness makes all the breath leave Kaiba in a sudden exhalation, and his chest puffs up with pride. “I did ask for some help,” he admits. “Mutou, for one. He has quite a good memory for it, and did the base sketches. And Ishtar added all the script, since Mutou doesn’t remember anything but your name, Bird Different Bird Bird.”

Atem blinks, then sputters out a laugh. “Sure, that’s definitely how it’s spelled,” he snorts, shaking his head as he turns away to look around again, breathing out a pleased breath. “This is wonderful. Thank you for talking to Yuugi and…perfecting it.” He casts a glance back to Kaiba, smiling. “Though it was still _very_ cool before.” 

“Of course it was!” The amount of pride flaring through Kaiba now can only be described in kilojoules, and he feels almost manic, his palms prickling with energy. “But a great genius knows when to make use of other people. I’ve never had a problem with that. Especially not if…” He swallows, and his eyes flick away. “If you like it. If it makes you less homesick.”

“I do. And it does.” Atem watches him for a moment longer, then steps close again, and stretches up on tiptoe, which gets him to about Kaiba’s jaw, where he plants a kiss. “Though even being homesick couldn’t make me leave now.” 

That cold, coiled knot of anxiety behind Kaiba’s sternum eases, and he bends without being asked, brushing a kiss over Atem’s lips. “Good. I would hate to have to follow you to the Afterlife when I have so many items on my calendar.” _But I would have to._

“Nope.” Atem beams. “Unnecessary. I told you, you’re stuck with me now. So, are we dueling here? In Ancient Egypt? I told you, I _won’t_ be distracted.”

“Wherever you want.” Kaiba holds up the remote. “Ancient Egypt? Space? Underwater? Deck of a pirate ship? Cold dark room?”

“…At some point, you’re going to need to tell me why pirate ship was ever an option, but—no, here is good.” Atem tilts his head back, breathing in the desert air that feels so _oddly_ real. “So I can bask while I win.” 

Kaiba gives him an odd look, mutters something that sounds like, _Pirates are cool_ , and pulls out his deck, handing over a Duel Disk system. “Unless you’d prefer to be authentic?” he asks wryly, and presses another button. Abruptly, his clothes change to linen (though they remain full-coverage), with papyrus sandals and a Diadiankh on his wrist.

Atem opens his mouth to say something, then holds up a hand, turning partially away. “Give me…five seconds.” _Very unfair, extremely rude, you are not allowed to see the face I just made._

Kaiba frowns. “Is it not good?”

“No…it’s…very good.” 

“Stop confusing me!” Kaiba demands, when relief shoots through him again. “Be easier to read already!”

“ _You_ be easier to read!” Atem shoots back, whirling back around and jabbing a finger in his direction. “You’re just as difficult! It’s fun but frustrating simultaneously!” He looks Kaiba over from head to toe, and his cheeks flush. “Whatever! Let’s duel.”

Energy sparks in Kaiba’s chest, and there’s nothing, _nothing_ like dueling with this particular man. His cards seem to leap to his hand, a feral grin on his face. “Then come! And don’t cry when I beat you!”

Atem doesn’t cry, of course, because he doesn’t lose.

Of course.

It was close, _so_ close, more times than Kaiba can count. His palms bear little half-moons, indents of where his fingernails had sunk deep into the soft flesh when he’d been so keyed up, so hyperfocused, that nothing else had mattered. It’s _better_ to duel in his holodeck, where he can feel the reverberations of the monsters roaring, where the people of Khemet gasp in shocked excitement to see each summon.

Finally, excruciatingly, his life points drop to zero, with Atem sitting at 50 left. Despite everything, the old anger still wells up in him, but it isn’t directed at Atem. To be honest, it never _really_ has been. His shoulders bowed, he raises his head, and says the words he hasn’t said since he was six. “Good game.”

Atem stands still, chest heaving from the adrenaline, his face flushed from excitement—and being still lasts for about another second, before he strides forward, then runs forward, launching himself forward at Kaiba to gleefully grab hold of his arms. “That,” he breathes, eyes bright, “was the _best_ one yet. No one else duels like you. I’d say we should go again, but I almost want to give us another year to think about it so it’s _that_ good next time.” 

…Has losing always been like this?

It stings, but the ache makes him eager, hungry for more, so inspired that he could fell an empire with his bare hands. His eyes flare with light, and he grips Atem’s arms right back. “Next time, I’ll beat you,” he swears, and starts to laugh, because he knows for a _fact_ that there will be a next time, and a time after that, as long as he wants.

“You can try,” Atem says with a laugh of his own, his fingers squeezing against Kaiba’s arms as he stares up at him, lips parted as if to say something else before he stops himself. He rocks back onto his heels, and then settles with a softer smile, his eyes lidding. “You really…are my favorite person. This sealed it.” 

“This is worth resurrecting you for.” Feral triumph despite—no, because of his loss, the loss that no one else has been able to replicate, surges through Kaiba, and he crushes Atem to his broad chest, strong arms engulfing him. “You’ve won,” he admits, the fire pulsing through him with every breath. “Claim your prize.”

Atem’s lips twitch, and he bounces up onto his toes, slinging his arms around Kaiba’s neck to climb him as if it’s second nature. “Done,” he announces, and his fingers fist into Kaiba’s hair, dragging him into far more heated, hungry kiss.

Just for a moment, Kaiba is certain that the space station had exploded, hurling him into the cold void beyond the world, and this is the last, desperate vision of his mind before death. Either that, or he’s already dead, and a clerical error had sent him to heaven instead of hell.

But Atem feels real in his arms, hot and hard and demanding, and Kaiba turns, shoving Atem’s back against a nearby obelisk, kissing him so hard he feels the scrape of teeth on lips, and tastes blood.

A ragged groan of approval escapes against Kaiba’s mouth, utterly and completely _thrilled_ at the reaction he’s managed to drag up to the surface. Atem’s nails scrape against Kaiba’s scalp, refusing to let him pull back even as he pants for breath against his mouth, feeling the sting of teeth cutting in somewhere and not caring in the slightest at the tang of blood on his tongue. “Seto,” Atem breathes, his thighs clamping tight around Kaiba’s hips. 

A low growl rises in Kaiba’s chest, and his eyes go dark, blown with lust, his hands dragging down to Atem’s hips to lift him off the ground so he doesn’t have to bend anymore. “Say my name again,” he rumbles, fingers sinking into Atem’s thighs.

The noise Atem makes is somewhere between a gasp and a squeak, caught up in his throat as his legs reflexively clamp to Kaiba’s waist, thighs tense in his grasp. “…Seto,” he hungrily repeats, lurching forward to kiss him again, hands grabbing at Kaiba’s face to drag him into another kiss. “ _Seto._ ” 

If he is dead, Kaiba hopes nobody is trying to revive him. 

Heat rockets through him, the kind of wild hunger he usually only feels when he’s dueling—dueling _this man_ , and no other, as if it’s the only reason he’s ever been put on this earth, ever seized power and knowledge and fucking mysticism with his bare hands. “More,” he grunts, not entirely sure what he’s asking for, demanding, just knowing that he needs it.

Atem nods, hungry and frantic, and he pulls back from Kaiba’s mouth with a panting breath, tongue snapping the sticky, blood-tinged strand of saliva connecting their lips. He drops a hand down to Kaiba’s belt, his eyes flicking up briefly. “Let me,” he whispers. 

A surge of nerves—

No, that’s _ridiculous_ , Kaiba chides himself, aghast at such a stupid, immature, pathetic emotion at such a crucial time. He banishes it ruthlessly, and nods, letting Atem have his run of it, though he does drop his own hand to the buckle. “It has a clasp,” he says, echoing Atem’s words from earlier, flicking his thumbnail to release it.

Atem breathes out a hot breath as his fingers eagerly move past the belt as it falls away, directly to the fastenings of Kaiba’s pants—then away and down, just to drag his palm over the bulge of Kaiba’s cock. That alone makes his breath catch, his pulse pounding in his ears, and he half-buries his face into Kaiba’s neck, his teeth sharp against his skin. 

Kaiba curses, throwing an arm over his face, slamming his other hand into the obelisk to support himself as his legs start to tremble. As much as he wants to pull away from the sheer newness of the sensation, his pride won’t allow it—and deep down, neither will his hunger. Every touch of Atem’s palm against him makes him hiss, his sensitive cock so hard it aches with every tiny brush of pressure through fabric. “Atem,” he breathes, every muscle in his body trembling.

Atem’s fingers curl, squeezing him gently through fabric before he can’t stop himself anymore, and his hand delves its way past fabric, hungry in the way he pulls Kaiba’s cock free and into his grasp. The weight of it in his hand is familiar and not, and that makes his pulse flutter excitedly, making his fingers tighten, Atem’s palm dragging against him to better feel that heat in his grasp, to memorize the shape again. “Seto,” he says again, his breath hot against Kaiba’s throat. 

In a duel, Kaiba sees them on even ground, two proud men battling with their sheer wills, the only one that could match him facing him head-on.

Like this, he feels wrong-footed from the start, as if Atem has every advantage, throwing him dangerously off his game. He grips urgently at the stone, eyes squeezed shut, knuckles popping as he grits his teeth against the wave of pleasure so intense his vision starts to dim. “Don’t stop,” he gasps, not sure if that’s supposed to be one phrase or two.

Atem’s fingers tighten, dragging along Kaiba’s cock in way that is nothing but familiar now—the way it twitches in his grasp, the way Kaiba shudders and shakes, the way his breath catches like that, the places that sweat beads first—

Atem knows all of it, but this is still _Kaiba_ , and it’s still _different_ , _new, good._

His tongue flicks out, tasting the sweat that drips just over Kaiba’s pulse. Atem’s hand strokes and squeezes, rhythmic, hungry, eager, thumb spreading the droplet of precome from the tip down along the heavy, thick length of Kaiba’s cock.

“A-Atem!” Kaiba’s hand slips away from his face to grab at Atem, clinging to his shoulders to keep himself from slipping down to his knees. His breath comes in ragged, frantic gasps as he approaches his peak, shoulders bowed, tension coiled in ever muscle and tendon. Still, that climax eludes him, so tense that he can’t figure out how to let it happen, unaccustomed to someone else’s touch. “I, I can’t—“

“You _can_ ,” Atem breathes, intent and demanding, unfaltering even as Kaiba clings to him more tightly than before. His fingers tremble, but he doesn’t stop, the tension sliding through Kaiba making him all the more insistent. “You told me to claim my prize,” he whispers, his other hand scraping against Kaiba’s back, clinging to him in turn. “This is it, I _want_ it.” 

That drags more heat out of Kaiba, drives him even higher, flying with the dragons as every stroke forces pleasure through him. His breathing gets harsher, tears welling up behind his eyelids as that final push still eludes him, the Sisyphean struggle making him feel like a string stretched too taut. “I can’t take it,” he says shakily, his cock so swollen the touches nearly hurt. “I—“ His mind casts around helplessly, and he blurts, “Tell me to do it, _please_ —“

That’s so _unlike_ what Atem knows of being with _Seth_ that it makes his breath catch, and he latches eagerly onto that, thrilled that it’s _Kaiba_ asking him, begging him, _wanting_ something from him. “Come for me,” he breathlessly, insistently says. “Do it, Seto.” 

Kaiba doesn’t expect it to work, expects to stay frustrated and unsatisfied, retreating back into himself again. Then Atem’s soft words drop into him like rocks into a still pool, and he shatters.

His cock jerks hard, and he spills with a sharp cry, shoulders shaking, clinging to Atem for dear life as he spends his release onto Atem’s hands, against his stomach, his own hips moving in frantic, uncontrolled jerks until he’s truly spent. “God,” he chokes out, his voice a broken thing against Atem’s ear.

Atem’s hand is thorough, in spite of how he trembles from the overstimulation of his success, stroking, squeezing through every pulse and thrust, and finally stills only after he feels Kaiba do the same. “…Good,” he whispers, turning his face against Kaiba’s, his lips warm against his neck. “Perfect.” 

The praise shoots through Kaiba hard enough that a last drop of fluid drips from the softening head of his cock, a strangled little sound coming from his throat. He swallows hard, trying to breathe, to put the world back together after it had so skillfully been shattered by Atem’s sure hands and iron will. “Thank you,” he whispers, his face hot.

“Mmn? That was my prize, I deserved that,” Atem gently teases as he buries his face into Kaiba’s neck for another moment, breathing in deep. Only then does he shift, releasing Kaiba’s cock and tugging Kaiba’s hand over with his own, slick fingers, dragging it insistently between his own legs. “Don’t pass out yet,” he murmurs, nosing at Kaiba’s throat. 

“I’m not—“ Kaiba’s protest falters as his fingers meet hard flesh, though his movements suffer from no such impediment. If anything, touching Atem makes him feel greedy, enough that he shoves the fabric away, wrapping long fingers around Atem’s cock immediately. He looks up, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with lust and care as he starts to stroke. “Like this?” he asks, genuinely unsure, and rubs his thumb cautiously over the tip.

The first touch of Kaiba’s hand makes him arch towards it automatically, a mindless nod following. “Yes,” Atem quickly answers, his voice breathless as the drag of Kaiba’s thumb makes him bite his lip, another bead of fluid welling up in response. _This_ is going to be fast, he vaguely thinks, but rather than be embarrassed, surely, it will only serve as a boost of confidence to Kaiba, who seems so charmingly unsure. “You can hold it tighter,” he whispers, blinking sweat away from his eyes. “It…w-won’t take long.”

“It can take as long as you need,” Kaiba says, but the words sound more defensive than assuring, even as he grips more tightly. He’d try to emulate what Atem had been doing on him, but most of the circuits in his mind feel like they’re misfiring, the parts that usually take note of things busy gushing to each other about how dreamy the Pharaoh is. He strokes, eyes never leaving Atem’s face, marveling at how godlike he must be to have achieved this, to have brought Atem to him by sheer force of will. “I wanted you,” he whispers, the words falling off his lips, “so I went and _got_ you…now you’re mine…and you will love it, I’ll make sure of that.”

Atem’s hands clench against Kaiba’s back, the lingering shudder that goes down his spine culminating in the way his toes curl until he feels his calf muscles spasm. The drag of Kaiba’s palm against his cock would be enough alone without the words—no, that’s wrong, Kaiba’s words would probably be enough after watching Kaiba _come_ , and all of it together is far too much, overstimulating, perfect, the thing he’s been searching for, for what feels like longer than the years he’d been stuck in a damned cursed puzzle--

He arches with a ragged gasp, biting into Kaiba’s shoulder reflexively as he spills with a broken little groan, tasting fabric and wishing it were warm skin. Atem’s eyes flutter, his cock pulsing in Kaiba’s grasp, dripping over his fingers as his legs finally wobble and give out, his hands clamping into Kaiba’s back to hold him in place as he trembles. 

After lifting Atem and his jewelry together, Atem alone doesn’t seem like much of a challenge. Kaiba scoops him off of his feet, strong arms holding him against his chest, until their breathing mingles, foreheads pressed together. “You,” he says, very softly, “are very dangerous for me. If you’re not careful, I’ll have everything I want. Where’s the challenge in that?”

Atem breathes out shakily, his eyes lidded and sated as he meets Kaiba’s gaze. “…I’ll just have to make sure that you never win a single game,” he softly says, his arms flopping over Kaiba’s shoulders as he opts to turn boneless. “Then you’ll always have something to do.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” There is an odd, dark fear when Kaiba thinks of it, of actually winning a game against Atem. Would it mean anything? Would it change everything? With a force of will, he banishes that thought, secure in a different kind of victory for now.

The sudden flare of the obelisk he’d leaned against startles him, and he backs up, frowning up at it. “Is it supposed to do that?” he asks conversationally as the hieroglyphs begin to glow.

Atem blinks dazedly, still clinging to Kaiba as he cranes his head back to look. “It’s a hologram, aren’t _you_ making it do that?” he asks, then he _actually_ looks at it, and the glowing carvings upon it. He licks his lips, a vague sense of unease falling over him. “…Who did you say helped with this?” 

“Yuugi,” Kaiba answers, frowning. “Ishtar helped with the carvings—the actual script. Is it not supposed to look like this?”

“…Which Ishtar?” Atem quietly asks, finally releasing Kaiba and standing on his own two feet again, the light of the glowing obelisk reflecting in his eyes as he stares up at it, deciphering it further. “This is a summoning spell.” 

He realizes that just as the light spreads, flaring up the line of obelisks one after another.

“It’s just a hologram,” Kaiba says with a frown, and pushes the button to deactivate it.

Nothing happens.

At least, what he _expects_ to happen doesn’t happen. The hologram doesn’t dismiss, the obelisks flaring brighter, each one lighting up after the other, closer and closer to the massive one in front of the palace. “Computer!” Kaiba barks. “Shut down the program!” 

“Error in shutdown. Program in use.”

“Override!”

“Error in override.”

“Terminate program!”

“Program cannot be terminated.”

“Bad,” Atem confirms, unable to wrench his eyes away, even as the glow intensifies, making the entire ‘world’ rumble around them. “Move,” he firmly says, grabbing Kaiba’s arm and yanking him back, away from the obelisk he’d been pressed to, wary of even remotely touching them now. “Whatever the hell he wanted to summon—it took more _ba_ than he had,” he grimly says, watching the massive obelisk in front of the palace start to glow, starting at the bottom and rippling closer and closer to the top. “He must’ve thought _you’d_ bring it about eventually…and I just helped.” 

“I’ll kill him,” Kaiba snarls, summoning his DiaDiankh again, the program manifesting around him as he reaches up two fingers to draw a card from the deck in the program, the one keyed into his memories of his favorite, most powerful cards. “Corrupting my Solid Vision this way—whatever comes out, I’ll destroy it before it has a chance to do anything!” The power of the dragon tingles on his fingertips, hungry to be summoned.

“Don’t be careless,” Atem insists, even as his own DiaDiankh glimmers into place as if it’s meant to be there. “I have no idea _what_ it could be—you didn’t drag up any of the other items, did you?” The idea of Malik with the Millennium Rod again makes his blood run cold, and he shakes his head, giving up on considering and guessing and bolting forward instead, knowing Kaiba will follow. 

The light reaches the top of the obelisk before they reach it, and coalesces in a painfully bright glow. It expands, then seems to flare up in a way that almost resembles a spray of water, engulfing everything within the hologram world for a moment. Atem stumbles to a stop, even needing to shield his own eyes before the glow fades, and before his eyes can refocus again, he _hears_ the thing that makes his heart sink— 

That low, throaty and unhinged giggle, echoing around them as the light dies down, settling like glittering dust. 

“Shiiiit, he reeeeally outdid himself,” comes the breathy sigh to follow as the form kneeling in front of the obelisk staggers to his feet. Atem squints, attempting to better see what he _knows_ is already there, but it’s a shock to see what form he seems to take—the waifish, fae body of Bakura _Ryou_ , not the Thief King in the flesh that automatically makes his stomach flip over in anxious dread. Bakura dusts himself off rather casually, slowly spinning to take in his surroundings, and then pauses, his eyes suddenly locked on Atem with a grin splitting his lips. “Yo, Pharaoh.”

A wordless snarl comes to Kaiba’s lips, and he leaps in front of Atem, the card flashing in his hand as an enormous pale dragon comes to life behind him, the wind from the wingbeats stirring up dust devils in the sands. He casts a look to the side, catching Atem’s eyes. “How do you want to do this?” he asks, with a breathless eagerness that comes from actually fighting side by side with this man, which somehow feels _even better_ than fighting him head to head.

“As quickly as possible,” Atem grimly says, a card appearing in his hand without even needing to draw it from his deck. 

“You’re both being _so_ aggressive,” Bakura complains, though his stare is analytical, his stance poised to move. “C’mon, President. You liked me the last time we chatted, admit it.” 

The card in Atem’s hand glows, and above him appears not the Black Magician, but his true form of Atem’s most loyal sworn magician, Mahad. 

“…Big guns real fast, both of you,” Bakura mutters, and he licks his lips, lingering only a second more before he bolts, a streak of white disappearing through the palace itself.

Blue Eyes rears up at Kaiba’s silent command, the blast of power carving through the sand as Kaiba starts running, dashing at top speed of his long legs towards the palace. Damn, _damn_ him for making it so enormous and cavernous!

Even the bolt of the Chaos blast doesn’t come close to the speed of Mahad, streaking through the air, power coiling around him in a vengeful dark bolt, lashing out to send the ground rippling, anyone inside going flying.

There has to be at least one god left that thinks he’s neat, judging by how he doesn’t break his face in half as Bakura ends up thrown from the force of that blast alone into one of the enormous, towering statues standing in his way. He curses, ripping himself back up to his feet, and bolts down another hallway, diving straight into the darkness without hesitation, intent on losing his pursuers at all costs. 

“Don’t lose him!” Atem shouts, even though his heart sinks the moment he loses sight of Bakura himself, and panic twists inside of him. A thief, let loose in a winding, twisting palace—“Kaiba! You _have_ to find some way to deactivate the program, or we’re _never_ going to reach him in time!”

Kaiba curses aloud, and turns, pulling from his coat (currently looking like a flowing linen robe) a small controller, that makes his fingers clench to pull out. “Computer,” he tries again, a last fail-safe before he blows up something he’s poured his heart and soul into for the last year, “terminate program!”

“Program terminated,” the computer responds calmly, as if it had never defied him. Ancient Egypt vanishes, leaving a dragon and magician hanging in the air of an enormous empty room, the lithe form of Bakura mid-stride and hiding behind something that no longer exists. With another bitten-back curse, Kaiba drops his hands, re-fastening his belt before turning to Atem.

“Damn,” Bakura sighs out, as if being caught like this doesn’t make the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He turns around, face as innocent as he can make it as he searches for the exit out of the corner of his eye. “You know…whatever you’re thinking, you should _probably_ —“ 

“Mahad.” Atem raises a hand, his fingers shaking. “Kill him.”

In the split second before Mahad can move, Bakura contemplates if the impossible is now possible, judging by the sight of the Pharaoh before him, complete with summons that should _not_ be here in this realm. “…Diabound,” he says underneath his breath, a last ditch effort that he doesn’t have a ton of faith in. _Sorry, Malik. You set this shit up so well, too._

But in spite of what he doesn’t believe, light flares at his feet, and out slithers the form of an enormous white snake, head rearing back to hiss with its fangs bared. Bakura blinks, then laughs, throwing out a hand. “Diabound! Take out that shitty magician, once and for all!” 

The snake rears and strikes, and in that flare of conflict, Bakura bolts, diving for the door of the holodeck, wrenching it open, and escaping just as the ensuing clash ricochets through the room.

_Not again_. Mahad dives out of the way, but too slow, his shield only absorbing part of the impact from those fangs as they rip into his summoned flesh, making him grit back a scream. His counterattack blows a hole in the enormous snake, blasting the fangs off of its face to collapse back into energy, as his own enchanted energy starts to face. Annoyed, he shores it up with a force of will, making himself whole again, taking a protective stance in front of the Pharaoh.

Calmly, Kaiba picks up his phone and dials a button. “Apprehend Bakura Ryou,” he says, voice cold. “Top priority. Helicopters, ground force. Start at the Mizubashi building. Do not stop once he is apprehended. There should be two. Also, arrest Malik Ishtar.”

Atem does his best not to cringe at the force that hits Mahad, feeling it through his own body as if it had happened to him as well. Gritting his teeth, he steps forward, touching a hand to Mahad’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he says, decidedly out of breath. “Having to summon you so soon…” He trails off, looking back to Kaiba. “Are you all right?” 

“No!” Kaiba snaps. “I’m fucking furious! This is _my_ program, my sanctuary—and no, I didn’t dig up any more of those cursed objects, I’m not that stupid!”

Mahad bows his head, eyelids sweeping down. “I would be far more hurt if you didn’t summon me at need, my Pharaoh. I will always be your loyal servant, as long as my _ka_ exists in any form.”

Atem forgoes attempting to talk to Kaiba when he’s like this, and instead offers Mahad a faint smile. “I appreciate it. Go rest for now. I’ll call you first, should he return.” 

Mahad pauses, just for a moment, to say very quietly, “Your priests are safely ruling the Underworld in your stead, Pharaoh. You needn’t worry.” Then he vanishes, a soft golden light bearing him back to his eternal vigilance.

_And yet, I’m more worried than ever now_ , Atem anxiously thinks before he tamps that down, steadying himself with a quick breath as he turns back towards Kaiba. “There’s no way you could have known this would happen,” he firmly says. “I was _sure_ Malik was working for us, not against us now.”

Kaiba opens his mouth, but pauses at a notification from his phone. He smirks, and shows it to Atem. “You can ask him yourself. He’s in custody. Ishtar, not the other Bakura. Ah, that reminds me.”

He punches in another number, and at hearing Bakura Ryo’s voice, says, almost bored, “You’re about to be arrested. It’s fine. Don’t resist.” Then he hangs up.

Atem stares at Kaiba for a moment, and tries not to be _so_ distracted by the competence. It’s easier said than done, when it _is_ one of the things he finds most attractive in men. “If he planned this…then Malik would expect to be arrested, if things went the way he planned,” he eventually says. “He’s not going to talk.” 

Kaiba snorts. “We’ll see what he’s prepared to give up, then. I think you underestimate how intimidating I can be.”

“I do not.” Atem heaves a sigh, folding his arms over his chest. “Then before I go and watch you be intimidating, take me home so I can change. We _both_ look like a mess.” 

“…What do you think are the chances that he didn’t notice?” Kaiba asks, looking down at his rumpled, stained clothing with disdain before opening the door, leading Atem to the car’s backseat. “Home,” he instructs shortly on the intercom, and the car pulls out immediately, as if the driver had been waiting with his foot hovering over the gas pedal for the better part of two hours.

Atem quickly throws himself into the backseat, dragging over the gold that he’d left behind rather like a dragon with its horde, feeling particularly paranoid _now_. “Slim to none. He always notices too much.” 

“Well, I’ll just have him confined, then,” Kaiba says, not really caring. “It’s not as if I’m going to bother keeping you a secret in any case.”

Atem’s head tilts at that. “You’re not? No offense, but I…almost assumed you would. Your reputation, the circumstances, it’s…Japan…” 

Kaiba shrugs. “I don’t care.”

Another, brief stare, and then Atem moves, leaning over to kiss Kaiba soundly. 

Even if he doesn’t really know the rules of this game, that has never stopped Kaiba from winning before, and it doesn’t now. Kaiba’s hands come up to hold Atem close, ignoring the way the car shifts around corners, focusing on nothing but Atem, and how much he _needs_ to taste his mouth.

Atem crawls partially into Kaiba’s lap, his hands sliding up into his hair to hold it tightly as he kisses him. He only pulls back when he registers the faint sting of Kaiba’s teeth touching somewhere that had been previously bitten, and he huffs out a soft breath, staring up at him. “You’re…very good,” he says. “Thank you. I’d be terrible at being hidden, anyway, but I was willing to try.” 

Kaiba inhales through his nose, and curls an arm around Atem’s waist, saying quietly, “I hid away far too much of myself for far too long. Now there’s no one I fear, so there’s no one to hide from.”

“I _thought_ there was no one I feared anymore,” Atem softly admits against Kaiba’s neck. “Seeing Bakura again proved me wrong.” 

“I’m not _afraid_ of him,” Kaiba lies, then frowns. “At least, I’m not afraid of what he thinks of me. I don’t exactly want him to summon a dark god again, though.”

“That’s what I am afraid of, yes.” Atem’s eyes shut. “That, very much.” 


	11. Chapter 11

Kaiba pauses, then says with a sigh, “I told him to take me home instead of to the holding facility, didn’t I? I assume you want to question Ishtar.”

“Eventually. Yes. But not looking like a complete mess.” Atem chews slowly on his lower lip. “I doubt he’ll be expecting _me_. The way that spellwork was laid out—he obviously expected it to just be your energy to activate it. Me being there just amplified it, because of course it did.” 

“What the fuck does he think he’s playing at?” Kaiba mutters to himself, as the car pulls up in front of his mansion, and he opens the door, extending a hand to Atem. “What do you want to wear, by the way?”

Atem takes Kaiba’s hand, blinking up at him. “Whatever you want me to wear.” He pauses, glancing back at the gold. “Can we…really have this secured this time?” 

Kaiba’s eyebrow raises, and he nods, picking up the pieces with a grunt, piling them in his arms. “House,” he says as he walks inside, turning right instead of left up to his room, heading down a staircase. “Open the outer vault.”

“Outer vault opened,” says the soothing female voice, and a steel door slides open as he descends, leading Atem down into a sterile, secure area of the house, the entire thing lined in six-inch steel walls.

“…Somehow, I’m certain if _you_ were building the tombs of pharaohs, we wouldn’t have had to deal with what we’re dealing with now,” Atem remarks as he looks around, impressed. “This should do it. I was joking earlier about someone stealing that and making cursed items out of it, but now, I’m not certain it’s a joke.” 

“No. I’m tripling security,” Kaiba agrees, and scans the vault doors, filing away which ones are full, and which still have space. He settles on the third one from the door, setting the gold on the ground briefly to scan his fingertips, his retinas, and then punch in a 26-digit passcode before the door slides open on an empty vault. “My hope is that a thief from three thousand years ago won’t have any experience with modern security methods, but I’m not relying on that. And if he can summon his _ka_ wherever and whenever he likes, I’ll be prepared for that as well.”

“I hate that he can do that,” Atem mutters underneath his breath, an unsettled shiver running through him before he shakes that off again. “Thank you. This was…not what I expected us to have to be dealing with, I have to admit.” Somehow, it _does_ make everything else seem so much easier in comparison, when before it was like pulling teeth to summon the courage to lay his lips against Kaiba’s.

“You’re summoning non-regulation monsters yourself, aren’t you?” Kaiba asks, rather amused at the indignant way Atem reacts. “Sorry about the cold. It’s a deliberately hostile location down here. Out, the timer will auto-lock this place in a minute.”

He ushers Atem out, and closes the door, setting a new 26-number code and committing it to memory, the way he does whenever he locks one of these doors. Then he takes Atem’s hand and leads him upstairs. “House, close outer vault. Isono, triple security on all vaults tonight through Domino City.”

“Outer Valt closed.”

“Yes, Mr. Kaiba.”

Kaiba turns to Atem, and one eyebrow raises slightly. “A shower?”

“A shower,” Atem says, sounding relieved at the thought. “ _My_ non-regulation monsters are completely acceptable and not gross, slithery things. I hate snakes.” 

“No, yours are tall, attractive men,” Kaiba taunts, leading Atem up to his bedroom, though he certainly knows the way by now. He locks the door securely behind them, and flicks the window locks shut as well, hating this feeling of paranoia. “Who love swearing their loyalty to you.”

“I fail to see what’s wrong with that,” Atem says, unlacing his waist belt and shrugging his tunic off, shaking out his hair afterwards. “They’re very effective _and_ nice to look at. And they _also_ hate snakes.” 

“…The Black Magician hates snakes?” Kaiba asks wryly, shucking his coat and hanging it by the door, plugging it in to charge.

“Yes, he was bitten by one when he was younger, _and_ the same one that attacked him today was the one that killed him,” Atem darkly says, stripping off his shendyt as well, entirely unconcerned with his nudity (and the more obvious bruises dotting his thighs and hips now). “Snakes are undesirable. Do you want to shower with me, or would you prefer your space?”

A stab of relief goes through Kaiba at that, and he says, hands hovering on his belt, “Separate, if you don’t mind. You can go first. Feel free to wear any of my clothes.”

“I don’t mind.” Atem _has_ learned his lesson; never let it be said that he isn’t teachable. He quickly strides off, intent on washing away the stress of the past hour far more than the exhilaration that the day had started with.

By the time Atem steps out of the Shower, Kaiba is wiggling his cell phone, looking satisfied. “One Bakura in custody already, another sighted, my men in pursuit. You look refreshed.”

“His gross residue has been scrubbed away,” Atem says far more cheerfully, snuggling into a towel that seems _far_ too fluffy to be real. “It’s all yours. Do you… _own_ the police now? Just curious.” 

“I own everything in this city,” Kaiba says, unconcerned. “It seemed like a good place to start. What do you want to wear?”

“Ah. Of course you do.” _Pharaoh indeed_ , Atem thinks, blinking at him for a moment more before shrugging and compartmentalizing that. “You’re the one that has to be seen with me in public. If you want me to look a certain way, I have no complaints. I’m _fairly_ used to being dressed.” 

“I _did_ prepare,” Kaiba says loftily, and opens his closet, pushing his hanging shirts to one side, a remnant of hen he wore suits instead of his battle suit and coat every day, before he was so plugged in to this project that he never felt like dressing down. Behind, in another compartment, hangs spun flax and papyrus sandals, and Kaiba smirks. “Be as comfortable as you like. Or, if you prefer, I had Yuugi pick me some modern things out in your size as well,” he adds, gesturing to another compartment before he heads to the bathroom. “Plenty of silver jewelry.”

_You were_ so _certain you could drag me back here._ That confidence is, unfortunately, very sexy, as is the blatant, doting gesture of having so _much_ ready for him, and Atem puts a note on that, a reminder to climb Kaiba once more in thanks later. “…Enjoy your shower,” he faintly says, still snuggled up in his towel as he goes to rummage and explore and get dressed. 

Kaiba casts a last look over his shoulder, an odd sort of ache that comes from knowing the thing he’s wanted for so long, been convinced he couldn’t have, is _here_. The ache for something he wants and _has_ is confusing, but welcome, and he shivers a bit before heading into the bathroom for ten minutes of silent peace.

When Kaiba emerges, Atem has made himself at home on Kaiba’s bed anew, fully dried from his shower and dressed surprisingly neatly in black slacks and a crisp, white button down, the stark, clean lines off-set by the silver choker wrapped about his neck to obscure the most obvious tanline not covered by clothing. Put next to Kaiba’s usual ensembles, he’d look just as pristinely made up—obviously on purpose, complete with the freshly-done lines of eyeliner (of which he’d also obviously discovered). “Your phone hasn’t made a peep, in case you were wondering,” he offers, pushing himself up onto an elbow. “Do you really think they’ll find him that easily?” 

“No.” Kaiba emerges, wrapped in a robe with the KC logo printed on the lapels, hesitating in front of his own dresser. “I assume we’ll have to do that ourselves. That’s why I had the bait arrested.” Decision made, he picks up another black bodysuit and trousers, taking them briefly back into the bathroom to put them on before emerging again, swirling his coat around his shoulders. 

“…Which one is the bait?” Atem warily asks, sitting up the rest of the way. “Bakura isn’t the type to keep others around, if you’re thinking he’s going to come for Malik.” 

“Likely not,” Kaiba agrees, turning up his collar, syncing his coat’s tech with his headset. “But I think Malik knows that, and would have some sort of leverage prepared. Wouldn’t you?”

“I can’t imagine doing what they’re doing, or thinking the way they think,” Atem admits, his head tilting. “I don’t see the point, but…I suppose I have no idea what their end game is, and maybe that’s what Malik can tell us.” 

“If any of those Millennium Items _have_ been stolen, I’m going to be firing and possibly imprisoning quite a lot of people,” Kaiba growls. “This is _not_ what I wanted to be doing with the rest of this day now that I finally have you here.”

“No,” Atem unhappily says, his eyes raking over Kaiba from head to toe. “I had other plans, too.” 

It isn’t as if Kaiba has never been ogled before. It happens often, much to his usual disdain, but it’s never made him feel a rippling of energy through his entire body at the sensation before, as if it’s Atem’s hands, not his eyes, that are touching him from top to bottom. He swallows, tugging slightly at his collar. “It isn’t as if we couldn’t…never mind, let’s get this over with,” he grumbles, mastering his urges. “Then we can take our time…with whatever.”

“With whatever,” Atem sweetly says, sidling over again and forcibly resisting the urge to latch onto Kaiba’s waist…for about a second, before he does it anyway. “You know, you were solid about a year ago, but now you’re _extra_ solid, somehow? You really picked all of that gold up like it was nothing, how often are you working out?” 

Kaiba freezes. His eyes go wide, and his breath shudders, his hands dropping automatically to Atem’s arms as adrenaline pounds through him, convinced for a moment that this is some sort of attack before he masters himself. “I…um. Often, I suppose. It helps with the…” His hand twitches. “Frustration. But not much.”

Perhaps the more he harasses Kaiba, the less flinchy his reactions will become. It _has_ been proving true, so far. “It’s good. You look good. I can see your abs from across the room.” 

“I’m not trying to hide them.” Kaiba feels his voice echoing oddly, and he shuts his eyes, feeling oddly vulnerable. “No one touches me like this.”

“Well, I should hope not,” Atem huffs, gazing up at him. “No one else is allowed to.” 

“I mean—“ Kaiba wipes a hand down his face. “No one ever has.”

“Good,” is Atem’s immediate, unrepentant response, rather than _you know? I could tell._ “Then you’ll think I’m the best no matter what.” 

“Tch. I still know if food tastes good even if it’s my first time eating it,” Kaiba mutters, shoving at Atem’s hands. “Don’t get me worked up yet, we have to go interview this idiot.”

Atem clings for a moment longer, just because he can, and then releases Kaiba with a laugh. “You obviously already think it’s pretty good,” he teases. “Fine, I can behave. I want to get this over with already, I didn’t come back from the dead for this.” 

“Agreed.” Kaiba leads them out of the mansion, texting Mokuba their location on the way to the holding cells, holding the car door for Atem. “I didn’t spend years of my life developing AI and dimensionally resonant technology to raise you from the dead to talk to Malik fucking Ishtar.”

“…I’m questioning his taste so much now,” Atem wearily says, folding himself back up into the car. “I thought he was reformed, and had _some_ sense left in his head.” 

“I’m just furious that he already withdrew my deposits into his account for helping me with the hieroglyphs,” Kaiba growls. “This is Yuugi’s fault, he’s the one who told me Malik was back in the country and needed a job.”

“You’re not allowed to blame Yuugi for this,” Atem warns, crossing his legs as he settles back into the seat. “He was obviously trying to help someone out that he thought was a friend.” 

“He’s too trusting.” Kaiba pauses, then suggests, “You should contact him. I’ve found most people have difficulty saying no to those enormous eyes. He also recommended that brand of eyeliner for you, I hope it’s satisfactory.”

“It is. He’s perfect, that’s why.” Atem deliberately bats his eyes up at Kaiba. “I would not look like me without this, he knows. Anyway, I _was_ going to borrow your phone and send him a message, but you keep it locked, and I didn’t want to be rude.”

“That’s new,” Kaiba says with a snort, then pulls out a phone, dark purple instead of the silver of his own, and hands it over. “Why borrow mine? Use your own.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Atem eagerly says, taking it from Kaiba without hesitation. “I know it’s hard to believe an ancient Pharaoh would feel at a loss without electronics, but here we are,” he wryly admits, unlocking the screen. “I blame you.”

“I’d think you’d blame the teenage boy you’d been sharing a body with, but it’s fine,” Kaiba says smugly. “I know I make technology look extremely cool.”

“I didn’t care until it looked cool,” Atem offers up, pleased to find a familiar contacts list installed already. 

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**guess who has been ripped (willingly) from the afterlife.**

**To: Pharaoh Atem**

**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and you have a PHONE?? OMG!!! THIS IS AMAZING !!!!!**

**To: Pharaoh Atem**

☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆  
  
---  
  
**To: Pharaoh Atem**

**Can I tell people this time???**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**yes, you can tell people. i’m here to stay.**

Typing those words sends an odd, nervous little shiver down his spine, and Atem briefly glances back up to Kaiba, which somehow manages to settle those nerves immediately. 

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**i hate to ask you something stressful right away, but…how much contact have you had with malik ishtar recently?**

Kaiba catches Atem’s eyes, but instead of looking away in embarrassment at being caught, his lips twitch in a small, affectionate smile.

**To: Pharaoh Atem**

**Oh, lots! www he’s part of our gaming group. we started playing more often since he moved to Japan a couple mouths ago.**

**To: Pharaoh Atem**

***months**

**To: Pharaoh Atem**

**We also worked together on one of Kaiba’s projects did you see it yet?**

_Handsome_ , Atem helplessly thinks, his eyes flicking away again. 

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**i did. i was really impressed, you remembered so much. thank you for taking all of that time to help him.**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**malik’s part in it, though…he’s up to something again. he wrote out a huge summoning spell on the obelisks.**

**To: Pharaoh Atem**

**!!! WAHT**

**To: Pharaoh Atem**

**SSERIOUSLY?? OMG…..why????**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**i don’t know.**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**but bakura is back. we’re handling it, but…be careful.**

**To: Pharaoh Atem**

**………………….which bakura**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**well. there are at least two right now. so what a great question.**

**To: Pharaoh Atem**

**Im so mad about Malik!! I really thought he was over all this!!! lmk (that means let me know) when you find out what’s up with him pls! (please)**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**you know i was in your head and read your text messages before, right**

**To: Mutou Yuugi**

**but i’ll let you know. stay safe.**

“ _He_ was sure Malik was over all of this,” Atem wearily says as he looks up. “So that makes two of us. I don’t even know what he could _want_ out of this at this point.”

“You’re about to get a chance to ask him,” Kaiba says, and opens the door the second the car pulls up. Inside the facility is a long hallway, lined with dozens of double doors, one to an observation room, the other to the interrogation chamber. Over a dozen men in black with the silver imprint of KC on their uniforms and automatic weapons line the entrances, face shields pulled down, and they pull to the sides deferentially when Kaiba strides past. He points at a couple of doors, and asks, “Malik first? Or one of the Bakuras?”

“Whichever Bakura first,” Atem says, tense and unable to hide it. “Even if it’s just his host—I’ll be able to tell, and we can check one thing off.” 

Kaiba nods, and turns to one guarded door, where the man punches several keys and swipes a card, then opens the door. Behind the table is Bakura Ryou, looking wide-eyed and vaguely confused, wearing what appears to be a set of pajamas and fuzzy slippers. Kaiba gives him a critical look, folding his arms over his chest. “Ryou?”

“Kaiba-kun?” Ryou’s head immediately snaps up, his eyes huge and perplexed. “What’s going on? Why did—“ And then his eyes land on Atem, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yuu—no, right, I’m sorry. Atem-…kun?” 

“It’s not him,” Atem says immediately, relief filtering over his face in a solid wave. “Not even a trace of him.” 

“…Him?” Ryou’s confused expression slowly changes to something of panic, which he doesn’t tamp down particularly well, his mind going places that couldn’t possibly make sense with what he knows. “Who are you talking about?” 

Kaiba loses interest immediately, turning and leaving the room. He calls over his shoulder, “If you need anything, I’ll have it brought to you. You’re staying here until this is sorted out.”

“Wait!” Ryou lurches up, stress instantly etching over his features. “If you’re talking about—what I think you’re talking about—how? I _swear_ , I haven’t been anywhere near that thing—“

“We know it’s not you,” Atem quickly soothes, holding up his hands. “Out of anyone, I know you wouldn’t want to be involved with this again. Just…do what Kaiba says, and stay put for now.” 

Ryou exhales a shaky breath, and slowly sinks back down again, nodding defeatedly. “If you say so,” he murmurs, slumping over the table. “But if you’re back, it can’t be anything good…sorry, Atem-kun.” 

_You’re not wrong_ is the vague thought that passes over Atem’s mind, and he quickly turns away, following after Kaiba. “You’re really going to make him stay there until we figure this out?” he quietly says. “It’s not his fault he’s caught up in it.”

“No, but it’s less confusing if he’s securely in there,” Kaiba says, unconcerned as he approaches the other occupied room. “That way the other one can’t pretend to be the innocent one, or use him for anything. It’s for his safety,” he adds at the end, as if it’s only just occurred to him. “This is your chance to stop me from beating the answers out of Ishtar, by the way.”

“You will _not_ do that,” Atem says, frowning. “It won’t work, anyway. If Malik did this, he’s going to be stubborn about it, and beating him up will just make him even less likely to talk.” 

“Then he had better talk,” Kaiba mutters, feeling distinctly uncharitable as the black-clad men open the room, revealing a rather ruffled-looking Malik Ishtar, wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and boxer shorts and substantially less jewelry than usual. 

He looks up, and his eyes widen at the sight of Atem. Then he looks from Kaiba to Atem again, and breathes something in another language that sounds like, “ _Ta’ase li tova_.”

If nothing else, at least Malik doesn’t look like the dark sorcerer-priest that Atem half-expects, and instead, just as startled to see him as one should be. “…If you haven’t realized yet, then hopefully my presence makes it more clear,” Atem says quietly. “This is serious, what you did.”

“Did it work?” Malik asks, with something a little wild behind his eyes, looking back and forth between them.

Kaiba surges forward, slamming his hands down on the table hard enough to make Malik jump back as far as the chair allows. “Don’t fuck with me!” he snarls. “You snuck a summoning spell into my hologram!”

“…Y…yes,” Malik admits, rather guiltily. “But it’s not what you think! I can tell!”

“Kaiba,” Atem sternly says, taking a step forward after him and giving him a sideways look. _Don’t scare him to death_ yet. “If it isn’t what we think, then start explaining,” he shortly says, folding his arms over his chest. “You used Kaiba’s own _ba_ to summon that thief back here. _Why?_ After all that happened? Malik, you _know_ what happened.” 

“It’s not _Zorc,_ though!” Malik protests, his jaw set—apparently, the guilt he feels for making use of Kaiba doesn’t extend to guilt for what he’s actually done. “Sorry, are only super rich assholes allowed to exploit my people’s rituals to raise the dead?”

“It wasn’t _just_ Zorc and you know that,” Atem stubbornly shoots back. “Don’t begin to compare this. He already attacked us once, so any argument comparing you and Kaiba’s intentions is out. An explanation, now.”

Sullen, Malik glares at Kaiba over Atem’s shoulder, and shrugs. “Explain what? Seems pretty self-explanatory. What is there to explain? You don’t know all the secrets of the tombkeepers.”

“Is this the real reason your sister sent you to Japan?” Kaiba demands suddenly, and moves before Malik can protest, grabbing one of Malik’s hands and forcing the sleeve up to his elbow, exposing a series of long scars in various stages of healing.

“Hey! Don’t touch me!” Malik snarls, yanking his hand back, only to find it caught by Kaiba’s grip like iron. 

After another second, just to prove Malik couldn’t shake him off, Kaiba lets go. “I found that spell, too. After the first time, I went looking, but the original copy of the book was missing. Summons a soul from the Underworld for three sunrises, huh? With an equivalent balance, too?”

Malik’s expression is startled, and he blusters. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Atem blinks, and he looks quickly from Malik to Kaiba, brow furrowed. “Is that what happened the first time?” he asks, and his eyes swivel back to Malik, accusing. “How many times have you _tried_ to bring him back?” 

“…I dunno,” Malik mutters, sliding down into his chair. “Some.”

“Fucking _why?_ ” Kaiba asks, flabbergasted.

“Fuck you.”

“Malik.” Atem’s voice is tired. “The last time we talked…I was so _sure_ you weren’t…like this. Like him. If you say he isn’t Zorc, then why…“

Then he pauses, and actually looks at Malik, not at what he assumes he’s supposed to be seeing—the maniacal, plotting tombkeeper that is bent on his destruction—and shuts his mouth, grabbing Kaiba’s sleeve and pulling him back a pace. “There’s more to this,” he quietly says. “You’ve got to stop yelling at him.”

“…Then I have to leave the room,” Kaiba growls, and gives Atem a look. “You all right with that?”

Atem glances back to Malik, then nods as he looks up at Kaiba. “Yes. I am. If I need you, you’ll know.” 

“I won’t be far.” The words are more of a warning to Malik than an assurance to Atem, and Kaiba sweeps out of the room, leaving them alone together.

Malik looks up, eyes red, rubbing vaguely over his forearm as if it itches. “It’s not that deep,” he says unhappily. “I don’t have to explain myself to Mr. King of the World.”

“But you do have to explain yourself if you summon someone like him,” Atem says, stepping closer to the table that stands between them again. “You _have to_ , Malik. You’re not an idiot, you know why.” He sighs. “You used Kaiba’s holodeck to get it done, too. He’s wouldn’t drop that even if you were using it to summon a dragon—because either way, you messed with his things.” 

“Dragon fucker,” Malik mutters under his breath, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You’re all fine with me being here, after all the shit I did when something bad took me over. But not him?”

“…Is that it?” Atem asks, tugging over a chair and dropping down into it, folding his arms on top of the table. “Is that why you’re trying to bring him back here? Because you think it’s not fair?” 

Malik’s expression is defiant at first, then slowly slumps into something agitated, anxious, and with a heavy weight of sadness. “Did it work, though?” he asks, voice trembling. “I made a vow, you know. That I’d try to undo everything bad I’d done.”

“If it didn’t work, we wouldn’t be coming after you so hard,” Atem wryly says, and then his head tilts. “What does that vow have to do with Bakura? I’m not…trying to yell at you. I’d just like to understand, so we can fix this. Do you think _I_ came back from the Afterlife to spend my time with this?” 

“I didn’t mean to bring you at all,” Malik admits, and sighs, slumping forward to rest his head on his forearms. “It didn’t have anything to do with the scales of justice, Pharaoh. I just wanted to see him again.”

“You, ah, didn’t bring me. Kaiba did, that’s a whole…separate thing. This time, at least…” Atem trails off, frowning as he watches Malik. “You’re…serious.” What he _hates_ is how his mind automatically starts putting pieces together, between this, and flipping rapidly back to when Bakura had appeared, and had immediately tried to run instead of fight—twice, until cornered. Sometimes, the way pieces fit together is…unusual. 

“I meant the first time.” Malik rubs his arm again, apparently unconsciously. “I heard months later from Yuugi. It was an accident—a byproduct. I kept trying, but—it wouldn’t work. Then…it was easy to figure out what Kaiba was doing—you know, because he kept telling everyone—so I figured…I mean, he’s got so much _ka_ to spare, right?”

“Theoretically,” Atem quietly says. “It certainly didn’t seem to faze him at all, activating that intricate of a summoning spell—especially when I was also there to help. Unknowingly.” 

“…Be careful of that,” Malik says quietly. “He’s stronger than any past version of himself ever was. You can tell, right?”

“Yes. That’s not what we’re here to talk about.” Atem’s lips purse. “Just…answer this. Did Bakura put you up to this? Did he tell you to bring him back?” 

“No.” Malik grimaces. “I know, that’s even more embarrassing.”

Atem leans back, his fingers curling against the side of the table, not even really sure what to do with that information. “…Embarrassing is a word for it.” He exhales through his teeth. “So he’s going to end up coming for you…is what I should absolutely be sure of.” 

Malik shrugs, looking away. “Dunno. He never promised that or anything.”

Atem pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll be back,” he says, and turns away to the door, slipping back outside and shutting it behind him. “So.” 

“I don’t get it,” Kaiba says immediately, scowling at the door. “Why would he do it?”

Atem leans back against the door, staring up at him. “They’re lovers.”

“What?” Kaiba’s face has a rather shocking lack of comprehension on it for a long minute, and he presses, “What does that mean? I mean, in this…context.”

“I don’t know completely,” Atem admits. “Apparently, Bakura didn’t put him up to it. Malik did it on his own—repeatedly, until it didn’t work, and that’s why he used you. I…don’t know if they’re planning anything else, but…did it seem like Bakura was just trying to get away earlier, to you?” 

“Of course.” Kaiba smirks. “Who would want to face us, when we’re angry and on our home field advantage? Getting away is only smart.”

“That’s not how he usually is, though,” Atem insists. “He knows when to run, but he usually is very intent on wanting me dead.” Kaiba’s words do make him second guess himself, however, and he exhales worriedly. “I think…if you let Malik go, we’ll find Bakura.” 

Kaiba starts to protest, pauses, lips twitching. “You mean put a tracker on him. Good thinking.”

“I mean Bakura will find _him_ , but…sure, same thing.” Atem shrugs. “I think Bakura will wait and wait rather than come here. He’s…kind of annoyingly patient. Malik is too weak to cast anything else of consequence right now, so honestly…I think he’s harmless. For now.” 

“So we wait until Bakura reveals himself,” Kaiba muses to himself, “and then throw both of them in prison forever. I like it.”

Atem heaves a long sigh. “That’s…not what I meant as a hard and fast rule, but if they prove dangerous…then yes, something like that.” 

_“If_ they prove dangerous?” Kaiba asks, incredulous. “You mean, as opposed to their first, very above-board, very legal, very nonthreatening appearance?”

“I don’t think Malik brought him back to cause any harm,” Atem insistently says. “I don’t think we should trust them completely, but I _also_ can tell he didn’t want to hurt anyone in the process. He seems genuinely sorry about involving us.” 

“…Fine. How about if they can beat me in a duel, they get to live? I’ve thought of instituting a rule like that, anyway.”

“Kaiba,” Atem exasperatedly says. “No. We only kill them if we can prove they’re trying to destroy the world or what have you—again.” 

“Tch.” Kaiba dismisses that with a sniff. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, unless it fails, in which case we’ll do it my way. But my way means more time at home, alone, in my bedroom.”

“You can’t bribe me with that when it involves the lives of real people, though the effort is alluring.” Atem’s eyebrows raise. “Put a tracker on him and set him loose. Then we go home, and we wait. How about that?” 

“…Fine.” Kaiba snaps his fingers, and Isono appears at his side. “Put an ankle bracelet on Ishtar and send him home. Hidden surveillance. Let him think the tracker is the only thing on him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me talk to him one more time,” Atem says, and disappears into the room before Kaiba can say anything else about it. “Malik? I’m having Kaiba let you go.” 

Malik’s face lights up with hope. “Really? Thanks!”

“…Don’t give me a reason to regret it.” Atem’s brow furrows. “I hope you realize why I can’t trust you right now. If _anything_ else happens, I’m handing it off to Kaiba to deal with.” 

“…Pharaoh.” Malik raises his eyes, and there’s something very young, but very haunted in his expression. “If he does what you fear…I’ll help you.”

“I hope that’s true.” Atem turns away, and shakes his head to himself. “Get some sleep when you get home. And apologize to Kaiba about using his holograms for this at some point—the sooner, the better.” 

“Yeah…yeah.” Malik stands, running his hands back through his hair. When the door opens, he pauses in front of Kaiba, and bows at the waist. “I apologize for using your holograms for my personal purposes,” he say, and sounds genuinely contrite. “I shouldn’t have.”

“If you’d asked, I’d have said no,” Kaiba says bluntly. “Fine. Whatever. Go home.”

“…I feel like I just scolded a child,” Atem says underneath his breath as he watches Malik go. “For playing with a toy that wasn’t his, not for summoning a five thousand year old Thief King that arguably wants me dead.” He turns his head to look up at Kaiba. “If this comes back to haunt me, you can tell me ‘I told you so.’”

“Obviously.” Kaiba’s hand comes to rest on the nape of Atem’s neck, protective and possessive all at once. “But…for the record. This is the only time you’ll ever hear me say…I hope I’m wrong.”

Atem’s skin prickles underneath Kaiba’s touch, enough to make his breath hitch before he can stop himself. “It certainly would be good if you were wrong, this once,” he faintly says. “This is too much in one day, I’m done.” 

“Come home with me.”

“Gladly.”


	12. Chapter 12

The journey home feels shorter, but more important, and Kaiba thinks he does a very admirable job of keeping his hands off of Atem. This, he realizes with dismay, is going to be a very different sort of challenge, for the rest of his life, because damned if he can imagine it ever being easy not to touch him, when he’s got the permission. 

Back in his room, he closes the door, then holds out his hand, palm up. “Phone.”

Atem blinks, then fishes it out of his pocket, handing it over without hesitation. “Yes, sir,” he offers back dryly. “Anything else you’d like?”

“Yes.” Kaiba takes out his own phone as well, then puts them both in the hallway, shutting the door firmly. “Computer, silence all notifications besides Mokuba’s SOS.”

“Yes, Mr. Kaiba.”

Kaiba turns to Atem, and folds his arms over his chest. “Now we won’t be interrupted.”

As if by clockwork, the second he sets it all up perfectly and is confronted with the spoils of victory, his courage falters, and he tugs at his collar again, uncertainty taking over once more.

“…Excellent.” Atem smiles then as he drops down onto the edge of Kaiba’s bed, kicking his feet slowly. “Go hang your coat up to charge, then, and come here.” 

Kaiba swallows, and nods, hanging up his coat and plugging it in (a formality, it had already charged to full earlier in the day, but it makes him feel better) before turning and walking to Atem’s side. He feels gawkishly tall all of a sudden, like right after he’d had his first growth spurt and had towered over the other children in school, one more thing to set him apart from lesser beings forever, even if he’d wanted--

What he’d wanted as a foolish child doesn’t matter, of course.

But Atem isn’t a lesser being. The power that radiates from him is more than personal, shining from him like the sun, and Kaiba feels caught in that gravity, walking slowly forward, a hand reaching out.

Atem reaches out in turn, taking Kaiba’s hand and tugging, pulling him between his thighs as he parts them deliberately, and stretches up, tilting his head back expectantly. “Nothing you do will be less than perfect to me,” he quietly says, meeting Kaiba’s eyes. “Not in here, Seto.”

Maybe, possibly, calling him by _that_ name instead, in the privacy of Kaiba’s room or their duels, will help ease this all…just a little.

Some of that tension eases, just slightly—enough to assure Kaiba that while this is terrifying and new, while everything about this has the capacity to destroy him, with this man, paradoxically, he is safe. With the only man he trusts to destroy him, oddly enough, he has nothing to fear. 

“Atem,” he whispers, and bends at the waist almost in half, one of his long legs bending so he’s half-kneeling on the edge of the bed, hands in Atem’s hair as he guides their mouths together again.

Atem’s own hands immediately reach up for Kaiba’s hair, twisting up through it to pull him down. He breathes in Kaiba’s breath as he kisses him, his nails scraping gently against Kaiba’s scalp as he arches up automatically, wanting more of that mouth that’s gradually becoming more familiar with every single kiss. “Seto,” he breathes, and neatly topples backward, dragging Kaiba with him. 

After a long, thorough kiss, Kaiba pulls back, his hands threaded into Atem’s hair. For a moment, he’s quiet, his lips red and parted, eyes intent, simply staring at Atem’s face as if this is his once chance to memorize it before it’s snatched away from him again. _I thought_ , he wants to say, helpless to put it into words, _I’d traded this kind of thing away in exchange for power. I thought this kind of happiness was forbidden to me. I thought I’d chosen the lonely path._

But he’s a mathematician, a chessmaster, a builder, a programmer. He isn’t a poet, even a bad one, so he simply watches Atem, as if thirsty for the sight.

“…There are people that would _kill_ for someone to look at them the way you’re looking at me right now,” Atem says with a breathless laugh, his eyes lidded and face undeniably fond as he runs his fingers through Kaiba’s hair, absently ruffling it. “You certainly know how to make a man feel wanted.” 

Heat prickles at Kaiba’s cheeks, and his eyes cast down, almost shy. “I’d think the whole…punching holes through dimensions to find you thing would have done the trick,” he says, only the tiniest bit embarrassed as he crawls on top of Atem, black clad form so long it dwarfs him, easily straddling him without much contact as of yet between their bodies. “But I can look at you more if that’s what you like.”

“The punching holes through dimensions clued me in, but now I get to see it. I like being looked at the way you look at me.” Atem’s fingers trace down the back of Kaiba’s neck, lingering at the top of his spine between his shoulders. “Mm. Roll over?” 

Kaiba breathes in deep for a moment, eyes locked on Atem’s. Then, slowly, he nods, and rolls off of Atem, swallowing as he turns facedown onto the bed next to him, gripping the expensive sheets, head bowed to brace on his forearm.

Atem follows, not hesitating in the slightest to neatly throw a leg over Kaiba’s hips, straddling his lower back. “Eventually,” he lightly says, setting his hands to Kaiba’s tense shoulders as he leans over him. “You _will_ become so accustomed to me touching you that I don’t have to start with you being as tense as a board.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to the back of Kaiba’s neck, and digs his thumbs gently between his shoulderblades, directly into the all-but-visible knot of tension there. “No one is watching but me, and I already told you what I think.” 

“I— _nnh_ —“

The noise that comes from Kaiba, pulled out by those strong hands working into the obscene knots in his shoulders, is more of a throaty moan than he’s ever let out, his back arching with the sudden firm touch to his muscles. “Didn’t…expect you to do this,” he groans, and bites into the back of his forearm, eyelids fluttering. 

“I _have_ to. How am I supposed to sexually harass you if you’re this tense?” Atem demands, kneading into Kaiba’s shoulders for another moment before he sighs, and sits back, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. “Strip, so I can do it properly. You’ll like it more. At _least_ from the waist up, please.” 

_You knew, or hoped, this was coming_ , Kaiba tells himself firmly, and nods. He sits up, carefully dislodging Atem, and stands from the bed, taking a deep breath. 

Then he tugs his form-fitting bodysuit off, revealing toned, sculpted musculature beneath. His belt and trousers follow, and he tosses them into a pile, his fastidiousness taking a break for the moment. “I’ll…leave these on for now,” he says, plucking at the waistband of his underwear, as his other hand pushes the hair back from his face. “I don’t…like…take yours off, too. Distract me.”

_Don’t stare like a gross pervert,_ Atem tells himself, even though he feels himself helpless to do anything _but_ watch Kaiba, a vague flutter of his pulse the only thing that eventually makes him stop and refocus. Ah, right. How many times had Shimon caught sight of him doing the same thing extremely openly with Priest Seth, and scolded him—as much as one _could_ scold a prince—to keep his eyes to himself? 

“Sure. Everything?” Not waiting for an answer, Atem unbuttons his shirt first, then his trousers, kicking it all aside to leave him in his underwear as well. “Come on,” he says, fluttering a hand to the bed. “Just lie down. I’ll be nice, I promise.”

“I’m not afraid,” Kaiba says automatically, coming to sit on the edge of the bed next to Atem, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I—this is just…” He shakes his head, frowning. “Complicated, for me.”

“I can tell.” Atem looks up at him as his fingers wind through Kaiba’s. “I don’t want to push you,” he carefully says. “I only want to make you feel…good. In general, about this. I love the way you touch me, so…I want to help you enjoy yourself, too.” 

“…I hate talking about this,” Kaiba admits. “I know you can tell.” He inhales deeply, chewing on his own bottom lip, staring into space for a moment before squaring his shoulders. “Well. I want to be the only one in control of my life, not him. Atem—“ 

He bites his lip again, then says, not meeting his eyes. “This isn’t romantic at all, but can we get the first one over with? So I can start improving?”

Atem blinks a few times, his head tilting nearly to his shoulder. “I…mean…I’m _going_ to make it good, no matter what,” he slowly says, obviously amused. “So I’m not sure it’ll be a matter of ‘getting it over with.’ But…sure. Did you have a certain way in mind?” 

Kaiba shrugs one shoulder. “Don’t most people have a preference? I assume you have one. I’m not—I know how it works.” There’s an odd, deep unhappiness turning down the corners of his mouth, gathered at the corners of his eyes. 

“I like sex,” Atem bluntly says, watching Kaiba carefully. “I don’t really…think about it that much. Which I know has to be baffling to you, and I’m sorry.” He leans up, and presses a kiss to Kaiba’s lips again, then leans back, his gaze searching. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I can try to guess what you like. A game to see if I’m right, heh.” 

Light flickers into Kaiba’s eyes, predictable and easy, and most of the tension vanishes. “All right,” he agrees immediately, turning to face Atem, kneeling on the bed facing him. “How do we play?”

“Let’s start with you laying back down. On your back this time,” Atem says brightly, adding a tally mark to his number of successes for the day. Not even ancient thieves showing up out of the blue can ruin this. “Because if you don’t relax at least a little bit, I’m going to _have_ to strangle you.” He leans forward, eyebrows raised. “It’s _me_ , Seto. I’m _going_ to make you have fun or so help me.” 

Kaiba rolls onto his back, rolling his eyes a bit. But this position is different, and it’s easy to see Atem, to keep him grounded in what’s real, in all the things he’s so hungry for that he can only think about them in the shower. Slowly, he reaches up a hand, touching Atem’s shoulder, brushing it down his arm. “I know you’ll make me feel good,” he says, somewhat wryly. “But I only have fun when we’re dueling. Come, then. I want this.”

“What, you didn’t have fun earlier?” Atem huffs, immediately slinging a leg over Kaiba’s thighs to straddle them. His hands slide up Kaiba’s shoulder, and he leans down, avoiding Kaiba’s lips to kiss just below his ear, his voice dropping. “When you pinned me against that obelisk like you wanted to eat me alive?” 

Kaiba’s cock fills swiftly, his hands coming up to touch every bit of skin he can, up and down Atem’s back as his breath hitches. “I like the sounds you were making,” he breathes, more of his tension bleeding away.

_There’s one._ Atem deliberately arches his back underneath Kaiba’s hands, a pleased, purring sigh escaping. “You’re the one that made me make those sounds,” he murmurs, nuzzling into Kaiba’s neck. “You almost made me make them again, in public. Putting your hands on me the way you do…is not fair.” One hand’s fingers slide down from Kaiba’s shoulder, down his chest, running along the lines of sculpted muscle before his thumb drags over a nipple. 

Kaiba gasps, his back jerking into a bow as if Atem had shoved a live wire under his skin rather than a gentle brush of his thumb. An image flashes in his mind—the two of them, years from now, knowing each other so well that they’ll be able to work each other up with just a few touches, _knowing_ that they’ll both like it every time. 

With a force of will, he banishes the ghost from the back of his mind. Atem is far more interesting, more worthy of his time. He drags his hands down Atem’s back again, lips parted. “But I like to have…everything I want,” he murmurs. “And I want you.”

_Two for two._ “You can have me,” Atem says, his eyes lidded as he makes his way back to Kaiba’s lips, nose brushing against Kaiba’s before he kisses him, just as his thumb drags again, and his fingers close around the same nipple again, far more intently than just a brush as he pinches. “But if you keep putting your hand on the back of my neck like that in public…you’re going to have to get used to me climbing all over you the second we’re alone.” 

“Fine, whatever.” Kaiba’s lashes flutter, and his hips thrust up against open air, looking for something to rub against, when his entire body feels like it’s on fire. He grabs for Atem again, his hands sliding down to toned thighs, squeezing and rubbing. “What, ah, what’s the score? In the game?”

“Well,” Atem says around a gasp when Kaiba grabs him, “you’ve liked everything I’ve done. So I’m winning.” He nips at Kaiba’s lips again as he wriggles back into that hold, deliberately settling his weight to give Kaiba’s cock something to press up against. A shiver runs down his spine, and he unrepentantly drags his other hand to Kaiba’s other nipple, twisting it as he attacks Kaiba’s mouth with another, hot kiss. 

Kaiba meets that kiss with obvious hunger, his fingers squeezing in, cock grinding up against Atem’s ass with every jut of his hips. “If you keep doing that,” he groans against Atem’s lips, “I won’t even…be able to tell you what I like, I just want more—“

“You don’t have to tell me,” Atem breathes, and his fingers deliberately pinch harder, caught up in how quickly he’s managed to rile Kaiba up. He arches his back, deliberately pressing into the grind of Kaiba’s hips, his own breath catching as he feels Kaiba’s cock ache against him. “I already know.” He nips Kaiba’s lips again, his breath hot between kisses. He might as well use his trump card while he can—and pray, _pray_ it’s as right as he’s sure it is. “I know,” he murmurs, nuzzling back up to Kaiba’s ear, “that you want me to put my cock in you and fuck you until you can’t think anymore, and tell you how _good_ you were when you come from me doing—“ His fingers pinch and twist. “This.”

Nothing, _nothing_ , that Atem says has anything to do with the clouds in Kaiba’s mind. Even if it had, Kaiba is certain words that powerful would blast them away with their sheer intensity, if the way his body reacts is any indication. The images those words conjure up make him actually whimper, his toes curling as he rubs helplessly against the firm curve of Atem’s ass, nowhere near enough to get relief, just enough to drive himself even madder. “N-new game,” he gasps, blinking rapidly, staring up at Atem as though he’s never seen anything so amazing, his back arching with pleasure. “Instead of guessing, you…tell me what I want. And then you do it.”

Atem grins, flush with success. “Heeh…so you admit I won?” he teases, briefly softening his touch over Kaiba’s nipples, feeling the pulse of them underneath his fingertips. “That was a cute sound you made, Seto. Are you going to do that again if I make you come like this first?” 

Kaiba bites back another noise, attempting to press his chest up into Atem’s hands. His face is hot, his belly is hot, everywhere Atem touches him is almost uncomfortably hot, but he can’t stop seeking for that warmth, rubbing his cock animalistically against the nearest warm surface. “You win,” he groans, arching under the ministrations. “I want—nnh—“

“Uh uh. I know what you want, remember? That’s the game.” Atem’s eyes lid, and he sets his fingers to work again, gently rolling one nipple as he pinches the other. “And I want you to be good, and come just from this…because _I_ like watching you squirm.” 

Kaiba’s fingers tremble on Atem’s thighs. For a moment, he thinks it’s going to be a failure, that he won’t be able to finish, not like this.

But Atem sounds so confident, and Kaiba’s body responds without asking for permission. The strong hands on his nipples make him buck, the pressure against his cock driving him towards the edge, and the commanding voice shoves him over, until he comes in his underwear with a rough, broken cry, his head thrashing from side to side as he starts to shake.

What a _great_ game, he thinks dazedly, only to realize he’d spoken aloud.

Atem stifles a pleased, breathless laugh, deliberately giving one of Kaiba’s now undoubtedly oversensitive nipples another tweak. “You’re right,” he murmurs, batting his eyelashes up at Kaiba. “It _is_ a great game. One of my favorites. Tell me again you only have fun when you’re dueling.” 

That same whimper falls from Kaiba’s lips again, and he squirms, oversensitive and still hard, and embarrassingly conscious of his own growing mess. It’s difficult to be really shamed about anything when it’s _Atem_ laughing at him, though why that is, Kaiba doesn’t know. Or rather, the shame and humiliation are just as strong, actually stronger than they would be from someone else.

But when it’s Atem laughing at him, it makes his cock hard.

His eyes cast down, as his heart thuds, his pulse racing at the way Atem speaks to him. “No…this is fun,” he says, feeling like he should add an honorific or something, but not quite knowing what would be right.

“I’m glad.” A thrill races up Atem’s spine at his success—and he didn’t even cheat! he didn’t use any past knowledge at all, this incarnation is different!—and he leans up, pressing a softer kiss to Kaiba’s lips. “That was good,” he murmurs. “If you want me to keep going, _everything’s_ coming off. If that’s a no, we can pause.” 

“No, shit, take it off,” Kaiba mutters, with a brief snort of a laugh. “Do it now, while it feels like this. I want to see you.” And much to his surprise, he sort of wants Atem to see him, too. He reaches down, sliding his underwear off, and tosses them to the side, steadfastly looking up at Atem instead of focusing on anything else.

“Excellent choice,” Atem cheerfully says, eagerly stripping and wriggling back into Kaiba, unrepentant in the way he immediately reaches to wrap his fingers back around Kaiba’s cock, far from put off over the slick stickiness his fingers slide over. “You are _perfect,_ ” he says, a little hitch in his voice. “I nearly had to stop and put my mouth on this earlier, I need you to know.” 

That image goes through Kaiba like lightning, making him surge up from the bed, hands gripping Atem’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hard, searching kiss. His teeth rasp against Atem’s lip, and he pulls back, flushed, chest heaving as he leans back on his hands. “I can’t imagine wanting to stop you, if that’s…what you think I’d like most.”

Atem’s eyes glitter with hunger, and his mouth is hot against Kaiba’s, silencing him with another, eager kiss. “That’s a different mood,” he murmurs. “But one that _will_ happen later.” Knowing (and seeing, very obviously) how much Kaiba _hates_ talking about anything makes Atem hesitate for a moment, but he decides to just go for it, risk be damned. “Right now, I want to put mine inside of you.” He kisses Kaiba again to distract from the words if need be. “And you’re going to let me, aren’t you?” 

Kaiba sucks in a breath, but for whatever reason, the idea seems to hold no danger for him. He bites softly at Atem’s lower lip, his hands coming up to drag down Atem’s sides as he leans back, shifting slightly to let his thighs part, just a bit. “Yeah,” he whispers, eyes alight. “I…I want that.”

That’s a _very_ different reaction than what Seth would have given him, and one that makes Atem’s pulse flutter in excitement. His cock twitches between his legs, achingly hard, and he sucks in a ragged breath. “Tell me you have some kind of lubricant, because that will make this so _much_ more fun,” he murmurs, kissing Kaiba again as his hands distractedly splay over Kaiba’s chest, fingers brushing over his nipples. “I _need_ to watch you come on my cock now.” 

Kaiba’s breath catches, and his eyes squeeze shut for a moment, as his cock rises aggressively against the curve of Atem’s ass. He nods, tongue licking at his lips as if trying to taste more of Atem on them. “Y-yes, I have some. In the bathroom. Let me up and I’ll get it.”

Atem nods, though he _does_ have to kiss Kaiba again before he rolls away with a huff of breath. “Quickly, I haven’t come yet and I _want_ to.” 

Kaiba takes a moment to breathe, then rolls off as well, concentrating firmly on his task instead of how it feels to walk around naked with someone watching him. He fetches the bottle from its special compartment, stashed alongside a few other things he’s only needed a few times when he couldn’t help himself, and calls, “Do I need anything else? Tell me now, I’m not getting back up.”

“No, that’s it,” Atem calls back, wriggling his toes as he waits, trying his damnedest to be patient. “You’re right, you’re _not_ getting back up tonight.” 

Kaiba stumbles a bit on his way back at the sheer desire in Atem’s voice, making his knees weak. He shoves the large bottle into Atem’s hand, a breathless excitement taking over him as he climbs back onto the bed. “Don’t…don’t worry,” he says, an embarrassed flush spreading over his cheeks. “I won’t—I mean, the sensation, it’s not—I don’t dislike it. It won’t surprise me.”

Atem quickly crawls after and over him, silencing him with another kiss that tastes his mouth so thoroughly that it leaves him breathing hard. “Just tell me if you want it on your back, or on your stomach,” he quietly says, barely pulling back from Kaiba’s lips. “It’s the only choice you have to make, I’ll do the rest.” 

“I want to look at you.” Kaiba lets his legs part again, loving the nearly sinful way it feels to have Atem between his thighs, his cock rubbing against Atem’s. His breath catches, and he murmurs, almost dazed, “I didn’t notice last time, but—it’s bigger than I thought.” His cock twitches against Atem’s at the thought.

“Good responses, all around,” Atem laughs, eagerly settling between Kaiba’s thighs, his breath fast every single time their cocks slide together. He opens the bottle, tipping out the liquid over his palm, and drags that over his cock, biting his lip as he throbs within his own hand. He squeezes slowly to relieve some of that tension, though that doesn’t do _much_ to help. “Lift your hips,” he says, shifting forward onto his knees to coax Kaiba into a better position and pull him up so that Kaiba almost rests on Atem’s thighs, legs around him. His cock slides easily into position, the slick head of his cock pressing against Kaiba’s hole, and Atem doesn’t bother holding onto self-control anymore—he _needs_ to be inside. With his hand guiding his cock, the other gripping one of Kaiba’s hips, he pushes forward with a hitching breath, biting down on a groan as the thick head first sinks inside. 

“ _Fuck_ —“

Kaiba’s voice spikes in a sudden curse, realizing very quickly that it has been _much_ too long since he’s done this by himself, especially with something of that size. He grabs for a nearby pillow, and his teeth sink into it in an effort to distract himself from the sudden, shocking stretch. Sweat breaks out on his brow, and he squirms, attempting to spread his thighs farther apart, even though it doesn’t seem to help.

But like _fuck_ he’s going to admit defeat of any kind, even like this.

His hands come up, dragging down Atem’s back, gripping his ass and squeezing. Pain doesn’t matter—it’s never been terribly important to him, and isn’t now. What’s important is the way Atem looks blissed out, as if he’s finding some sort of unbelievable pleasure within Kaiba’s body. Kaiba’s cock is soft, but his eyes burn, locked onto Atem’s face.

Atem’s eyes flick up to hold Kaiba’s, sweat dripping down into his eyes, his own face flushed and his muscles trembling from the effort it takes not to just shove his cock in where it’s so hot and _tight_ that his mind threatens to shut off. _Relax, or try to, just a little,_ he wants to say, but he doesn’t bother— _this_ , at least, is _very_ Seth, that need to figure it out on his own, to adjust at his own pace and enjoy himself when he’s damned well ready to. “Keep grabbing me like that,” Atem says instead, his voice breathless as he drops a hand to the bed for leverage, slowly rocking his hips forward, his cock aching inside of him. His other hand paws up Kaiba’s chest, fixating on his nipples again, teasingly pinching one. “I love when your hands are on me.” 

Kaiba’s hands slowly unclench, only to drag down Atem’s thighs, back up to his ass, manicured fingernails sinking into toned flesh. The war inside him between pain and pleasure coalesces, until the iron of his will flashes in his eyes, and he decides that he _is_ going to enjoy himself. That sudden decision coalesces in his chest, until the hunger takes over every part of him, and everything but the two of them falls away. 

“Atem,” he breathes, his cock starting to come back to life as he focuses less on the invasion, more on the _sensation_ of something moving inside of him, spreading him open, shoving and digging inside his body. Just the way that Atem breathes, the way he moves as if he’s chasing nothing but pleasure and _finding_ it inside of Kaiba’s body makes Kaiba tense, the idea washing over him in waves. “You’re…inside of me,” he groans, and that idea makes him harder than anything else he can think of.

“I am.” Atem’s breath hiccups as Kaiba tenses around him, and the relaxation that follows that allows Atem to let his cock sink inside a little more, his next thrust more thorough because of it. “Which is exactly where you want me,” he breathes, his back arching underneath the grabbing of Kaiba’s hands, pressing more skin to skin as he bends forward over Kaiba. “You’re so _hot_ inside,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering as he grinds forward, cock dripping as he works himself in, taking full advantage of what he’s been given.

Watching Atem take his pleasure is somehow so much hotter than taking his own, Kaiba finds, even as the sensations inside him start to burn, building into a sharp ache inside of him, a desire to fly even higher. There’s an odd sort of pride in knowing Atem is enjoying himself so much, and he shifts, undulating his hips, feeling the slick stretch inside of him and squeezing down when Atem rocks inside, eyes locked on Atem’s face to see how he likes it. “You said you want to come in me,” he breathes, biting his bottom lip, rocking down to meet Atem’s thrusts. “I—nnh, I _need_ to know how that feels, so—“

“You—are not going to have to wait long,” Atem gasps, his head bowing forward as he shuts his eyes, intent on focusing on how _good_ it feels. When Kaiba moves against him, catching onto that eager rhythm, matching him so _perfectly_ when his cock slides in deeper and harder, Atem loses the last slivers of his self-control, and finally yanks Kaiba down onto his cock the way he’s been wanting to, gasping as their skin slaps together, his cock twitching hard inside of him. “Gods,” he groans, nails biting into Kaiba’s hips as he ruts forward, the angle sharper and more intense now that he’s fully buried inside and able to get proper leverage. “You really—are _perfect_ —S-Seto—“ 

With a ragged gasp of breath, Atem spills, his cock throbbing inside of him with every long pulse, his eyes rolling back as he thrusts raggedly through his orgasm.

The feeling of Atem spilling inside of him, filling him up with liquid heat, makes Kaiba shiver down to his curling toes, his eyes squeezing shut. He focuses on it as much as he can, trying to memorize the sensation, how it feels to have a man mount him and fill him up, and the more he dwells on it, the more the pleasure swells in him to match, until he gasps. Feeling Atem moving through the mess is so downright…his mind can’t think of any way to put it but _disgusting, but in a good way_. “Full,” he whispers, gripping Atem’s biceps, holding him close.

The sound Atem makes is akin to a purr as he stretches forward against Kaiba, his cock giving another, eager twitch inside of him. “Full,” he breathes in agreement, his hands splaying upwards over Kaiba’s chest again, unable to ignore his nipples when they’re _right there_. “If you’re lucky, you’ll be pregnant,” he casually teases, and drops his head to set his teeth to a nipple. 

“What the f—stop it!” Kaiba snarls, horrified as his cock twitches hard at that. He looks down at the traitor, then up at Atem accusingly. “You did this! It’s because you’re touching me!”

Atem looks up, batting his eyelashes innocently. “But if I come in you enough, that might work,” he lightly says, a slow grin curling his lips as he feels the way Kaiba’s body tenses up. “I suppose I’ll have to keep trying…the more I get off in you and fill you up, the more likely it is—“ 

“I don’t—know how it worked in ancient Egypt or the Afterlife,” Kaiba groans, batting at Atem’s hands even as he starts to shift slowly, working himself down on Atem’s cock, searching for that particular rhythm he was starting to find, made all the more wicked by how slick he feels inside, “but here…men can’t…”

“But I’m the Pharaoh of the Underworld,” Atem says with a purr, deliberately angling his hips to help Kaiba find what he’s looking for, breathing out a sigh through his nose as Kaiba clenches down around him. “If I wanted it to happen…it would. Like right now—I want to watch you get off on my cock, so do it.” 

That change in angle helps Kaiba find what he was looking for, what he’s always found difficult to locate by himself, and he shouts wordlessly when Atem’s cock first shoves against that little bundle of nerves. _Oh, good, I do have one_ , comes the relieved thought through a haze of ecstasy, and he starts to move mindlessly, grinding down, forcing Atem’s cockhead against that spot over and over again, lips parted, a glassy, unfocused look in his eyes.

“Good,” is Atem’s breathless encouragement, his hands curling against Kaiba’s hips—steadying him, but otherwise not getting in his way. He only moves to help Kaiba find what he wants, again and again, letting him work himself onto Atem’s cock and figure out the way _he_ likes it without too much guiding and pulling and insisting. “Watching you like this…it’s _just_ for me. I’m the only one that gets to see you lose your mind over a cock being inside of you.” 

Kaiba nods urgently, his hand reaching up to thread through Atem’s hair, seeking and getting a kiss before he relaxes back down to the bed, stomach muscles taut as he works himself down, unwilling to move at all now that he’s found such a perfect rhythm. 

The fear that he won’t be able to finish creeps in again, but Atem’s words banish it, lets him see himself from Atem’s point of view—mindless, greedy, horny, reduced to a base creature of instinct over finally having what he really needs, a man’s cock buried deep inside his body. “S-so good,” he whispers, and reaches down, his hand wrapping around his own cock, starting to stroke fast and hard. “Atem—tell me to come, please—“

There’s a heady rush that follows every time Kaiba asks him for that now—that low, raspy voice begging for something that only _he_ can give him. Atem’s eyes are locked on him, watching every heave of his breath, every arch of his back, the way sweat drips down over his skin, and he almost forgets how words are supposed to be formed on his tongue. “You’ve been so good,” he whispers, his eyes lidded. “Go ahead. Come on my cock, I want you to.” 

Fireworks erupt behind Kaiba’s eyes, and he feels himself start to shake, a different sort of orgasm taking him over, feeling as if that energy is almost bypassing his cock, starting at that nub deeb inside of him, his mind and body entirely under Atem’s control. He spills in a rush, splashing over his own abdomen, melting back into the pillows with a shudder that seems to last ten minutes. “Fuck, Atem,” he says softly, his hand dropping from his cock, a sweet exhaustion stealing over him. The last thing he feels capable of is to reach up, pulling Atem in close to him, his face buried in the pharaoh’s sweat-damp hair.

Atem flops down in turn, burying his face down into Kaiba’s chest with a pleased, sated sigh. “That…was more exercise than I have done in _awhile_ ,” he admits cheerfully, wriggling to carefully separate their bodies, then drags his way up Kaiba to settle more comfortably onto his chest, burying his face into his neck. “You’re perfect,” he effortlessly praises, breathing in deep as he stuffs his nose to Kaiba’s skin. “That was perfect.”

_I’m not a failure at this._

The relief is oddly potent, and Kaiba smiles into Atem’s hair, his hands tracing slow patterns onto Atem’s back. “I don’t know what your preference is,” he murmurs, “but I think mine is…often.”

“Congratulations, that is the right answer,” Atem breathes, his eyes fluttering as he shifts contently underneath Kaiba’s petting. “I love this.” 

Kaiba nuzzles into Atem’s hair, and finds that words of softness, like this, aren’t so frightening. “I love this, too. A good arrangement, I think. I’ll be in charge of everything outside of this room. You…”

“Can be in charge of everything inside this room. I like that a lot.” Atem’s fingers brush absently down from Kaiba’s shoulder, tracing the sculpted muscle of his arm. “You can turn that brain of yours off and enjoy yourself.”

“Turning off my brain has never been an attraction before,” Kaiba murmurs, amused. “Only you could make it sound attractive.” He pauses, and adds, “Don’t get bored of this.”

“Impossible, you’re never boring, and I’m very creative.” Atem shifts a little more, setting his ear to Kaiba’s chest. “Are you aware you _rumble_ when you speak?” 

“…No?” Kaiba chuckles, his fingers moving in swirling circles over Atem’s back. “If anyone else ever got this close to me, I’d sue them.”

Atem’s eyes flutter at the subsequent rumbling vibration that comes from even that touch of laughter. “You _vibrate_ ,” he sighs, boneless against Kaiba’s chest as he’s petted and given the treat of listening to Kaiba speak like this in particular. “It’s so good.” 

“I suppose it bodes well for me that you like tall, powerful men,” Kaiba says, with apparently not a trace of modesty. “I suppose you’d like it best if you could have both of us. Or all three—four? How many are there?”

“Two? I think two,” Atem manages, trying not to linger on _that_ thought for too long, and failing. “You two are…actually very different.” 

“Good.” Kaiba’s mouth quirks. “Otherwise I’d accuse you of cheating at our game.”

“I didn’t cheat at _all_ ,” Atem insists, lifting his head with a pout. “You’re nothing like him. In a really _good_ way.” 

“I’ve improved over lifetimes, obviously,” Kaiba rumbles, and smiles. “Nn. Pull out or start moving again, I can’t hold still anymore.”

“Fiiine.” Atem slowly, carefully separates their bodies, hissing out a breathy sigh as he does. 

Kaiba stretches, squirming a bit, making a face as the mess intensifies. “A-ah. Another shower, I think.” _Unless you want me to stay like this_ , whispers that strange, dark part of himself with cravings he doesn’t really understand, that he’d never had before Atem had held him down and told him to come.

“If you _have_ to,” Atem sighs, collapsing down into the bed, burying himself down into the soft sheets without a care. “Or you could stay, and pet me until we both pass out.” 

Maybe after a few years of this, of unaccustomed pleasure and sweetness when his life has been nothing but struggles and challenges, Kaiba will learn how to accept that softness without feeling as if he’s letting it win. _Best start now_ , he tells himself, and throws an arm over Atem, pulling him close. “Sorry there aren’t any slaves to wash us,” he says with a smirk. “I don’t feel that kind of closeness with Isono.”

Atem blinks into Kaiba’s chest—first, startled at his success, then startled at the joke—and muffles a laugh there. “I’d be horrified if you were,” he admits with a snort, snuggling firmly against Kaiba. “No, you can just wash me later, that’s a good trade off.” 

“Oh, am I your slave now?” Kaiba asks, eyebrow arched, flushed with success at his joke landing. 

“In here? Maaaybe.” 

“That was supposed to be a joke, Atem. Now I’m getting hard again.”

“I know it was a joke, but it’s still allowed to turn you on!”

“Well, now do something about it!” Kaiba’s chin thrusts out. “You’re the one who didn’t want me to be embarrassed about being turned on!”

“I’m _tired_ , hold that thought and save it for the morning,” Atem huffs, giving Kaiba’s chest a firm nuzzle. “You are absolutely allowed to wake me up with your cock, so long as you are fine with me going _back_ to sleep afterwards if it’s too early.” 

Kaiba is still for a moment, then rolls out of the bed, padding on bare feet to the bathroom.

“That is also a valid option,” Atem calls after him, settling down with Kaiba’s pillow instead. 

Fifteen minutes later, Kaiba emerges from the shower, now wearing sweats and a t-shirt, tugging on a pair of socks. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Mmn? You smell good. Clean.” Atem lifts his head, blinking slowly and obviously already half-asleep. “Where are you going?”

“Gym.” Kaiba tosses his towel in the wall chute, followed by the clothes they’d shucked earlier. “You can sleep. Hope you’re better at it than I am.”

“Mmnf.” Atem’s head flops back down again. “I’m really good at it,” he murmurs, and idly reaches out a hand, fingers curling. “You must pay the tax before you leave.” 

Kaiba moves the the bed, reaching down to touch Atem’s hand. “What?”

“Kiss. Just one. For _now_.” 

Kaiba pauses. “You really want to get me worked up again?” he asks doubtfully. “I _just_ got calmed down.” Still feels like there are ants under his skin, but that’s nothing a hard hour of HIIT won’t help him ignore.

“Just a kiss. I’ll be nice. No tongue.” 

“…Very well.” Kaiba leans down, and presses a soft kiss to Atem’s lips, then gives him a little grimace. “I’ll have to learn how to react to you properly.”

Atem’s smile is a pleased one, and true to his word, he doesn’t push. Instead, he melts back down, quite content. “I think you react just fine.” 

_You don’t know how it felt when you told me to go to sleep._ There’s no way he could say it aloud without sounding insane, clingy, childish, or ridiculous, he’s sure, so he says nothing. Kaiba reaches down a hand, affectionately brushing over Atem’s hair. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back, but I’ll try not to wake you.”

Atem’s eyes lid, watching him for a moment more, but he lets it go, recognizing the weird restlessness of Seth in Kaiba Seto that flares up more often than not when they don’t have the _exact_ same plan. Unbothered, he settles, letting his eyes shut completely again. “Have fun taking your aggression out.” 

Kaiba nods, leaves the room, trips over his phone, and curses. He picks it up, flips through several dozen text messages—

**We have apprehended Bakura**

**We are so sorry Bakura has escaped**

**We have apprehended Bakura**

**We are so sorry that was the wrong Bakura that’s the one that was already in confinement**

**We have apprehended Bakura**

**We are so sorry that was just a man with white hair**

**We have apprehended Bakura**

**We are so sorry Bakura has once again escaped**

—and closes his phone, leaving it in the hallway as he leaves to run and lift weights until he can barely stand.

A bit more than an hour later, damp from yet another shower, Kaiba slips back into his bedroom, curling himself around Atem, asking softly, “You asleep?”

“…No,” is the grumpy exhale, drowsy but obviously not completely within the throes of slumber. “Restless.” 

“…Me, too,” Kaiba admits, tucking his chin over Atem’s shoulder. “Feel weird. Usually working out helps. Not this time.”

“I’m _very_ good at sleeping,” Atem mutters, even as he nestles back against Kaiba. “I did it for three thousand years. Have you gotten any word about Bakura? Maybe that’s what is making me so uneasy…” 

“He’s a slippery bastard,” Kaiba says, annoyed, “but so far, no reports of anything bad happening in the city. Just him playing a game of cat and mouse with my men.”

“Has he been summoning more horrifying giant snakes?”

“None that they’ve reported. He could probably only do it in a place where my Solid Vision system is hooked up. That’s the conclusion I’ve come to, at least.”

“…I hope so,” Atem reluctantly says. “But…didn’t he do it after you turned the system off?” 

“Mm, I terminated the _program_ ,” Kaiba reminds him, “not the system itself. I was about to, if the program wouldn’t terminate. But Solid Vision was still enabled.”

“Ah. Sure. Then I hope that’s what it is.” Atem buries his face down into a pillow. “I can’t in good conscience let him just…roam around freely, but the idea of dealing with him makes me unable to sleep, apparently,” he crossly says. “When I looked at Malik…don’t laugh at this.” 

“I don’t laugh. What did you see?”

“You laugh sometimes. Have you ever seen a crocodile pissed off that you’re near her nest?” 

“No. Why would I spend my time looking at animals?” When there are _computers_?

“Then try to imagine it. They’re basically sharp, short dragons with a mean streak, and they’re _extremely_ territorial. They come at you with their teeth out and they do _not_ care who gets hurt in the process of defending what they think is theirs. That’s…what it felt like—not even looking _at_ Malik, but…past him, if that makes sense. Which is why,” Atem mutters, “I suggested we just let him go. Bakura was likely to murder us all if that went on for too much longer.” 

“…Dragons are much cooler than crocodiles,” Kaiba mutters, offended. “Hmm. You think they…ew. They care for each other?” 

“I have no idea if ‘care’ is the word to use or not,” Atem admits. “But I do think Bakura has…as gross as it sounds…staked a claim, and Malik doesn’t seem to _hate_ that, judging by everything he’s been doing.” 

Kaiba huffs against Atem’s shoulder. “Weird. It’s one thing when it’s us, and I don’t have any desire to keep it quiet, but—weird.”

“I have no idea what to do about it,” Atem grumpily says. “Part of me wants to just ignore them entirely and pretend they aren’t an issue. But if we ignore them, then we look weak, and that kind of pisses me off.” 

“I don’t care how we look. I don’t care what people think. I have people watching for them, so if they do anything, we’ll know about it.” Kaiba rolls his eyes. “After the years I’ve had, I’m done with caring what people think about me.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. _I’m_ talking about the possibility of the man that merged his soul with a dark god to murder me once trying it again. I don’t care what he _thinks_ of me, I care about him possibly wanting me dead. Again. And ruining everything. Again.” Atem sighs out a breath. “I didn’t come back here to deal with this.” 

“No, you didn’t.” Kaiba’s voice is surprisingly fervent, and he moves, climbing on top of Atem, cupping his face in his hands. “You _didn’t_. You weren’t sent here. I _brought_ you here, and it didn’t have anything to do with that. So stop thinking it’s your destiny to have to defeat all evil, and let _me_ handle it.”

“I—“ Atem’s brow furrows. “Hm. I’m…not good at letting anyone else do that bit, I suppose,” he says, his eyes sliding away. 

“Learn,” Kaiba says firmly. “I didn’t spend two years of an unquestionably brilliant, limitless life just to stress out a dead man. You’re here because I want you here, and you want to be here, not to solve problems. This is _my_ city. I’ll be the one protecting it.”

Atem stares up at him, and exhales a long, heavy breath. “…All right. I trust you. But I’m going to need you to do it faster, because I need my beauty sleep.” 

Kaiba sighs, and rolls out of the bed, groping for clothes in the dim light. “All right, fine. I’ll update you in the morning.”

Realistically, that _was_ what he meant on another level, but for Kaiba to take him seriously and then _do it_ makes his heart flutter in a weird way. “…Thank you,” Atem softly says, pushing himself up onto an elbow. “I appreciate it.” 

“You need sleep more than I do, anyway.” Kaiba tugs his clothes, then his coat on, then pauses. “Tax for me,” he says smugly, and leans down, claiming a kiss.

Atem automatically leans up, returning that kiss with the enthusiasm Kaiba _very_ much deserves. “I can be taxed as often as necessary,” he says with a smile.

Twenty-four hours ago, Kaiba could never have imagined that he’d be able to joke with someone about sex, let alone about kissing. Maybe that’s why there’s something warm in his chest, right next to his anxiety.

He strides briskly from the room, activating his headset. “Right,” he growls, eyes scanning a virtual readout of the city, down to every little figure asleep in their beds. “Time to find a snake.”


End file.
